Feels Like Home
by melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Jackson and April spent their childhoods inseparable, until the end of their senior year approached and the split that happens to so many happened to them. They drift apart and fifteen years pass without any communication. But when Jackson shows up on April's doorstep in army fatigues with nowhere else to go, that time disappears. How much has really changed?
1. Chapter 1

SUMMER 1995

I'm sitting on the porch in a hand-me-down dress, listening to the chatter of my sisters from inside the kitchen. My mom's voices rises above them as she washes our dishes from lunch in the sink; she's in the perfect spot to look out the window and watch me where I sit.

I'm 10, and the second oldest of four, but she still treats me like I'm a baby. I can't stand it. It doesn't help that I'm the quietest, the most well-behaved, and the most awkward, either. She feels like she has to protect me from the world and force me out into it at the same time.

She thinks I spend too much time at home with my nose in a book. She's said more times than I can count that I should _go make some friends_!

But girls don't like me, and boys definitely don't. I'm better off just sticking by myself, hanging out alone where no one can tease me.

I sink my chin further into the palm of my hand and stare ahead at the U-HAUL backing into the driveway across the street. Before I have a chance to be curious, I hear Mom's voice call to me through the screen.

"Looks like our new neighbors are moving in," she says excitedly, as if she already knew about it. She probably did. She knows everything that goes on in this neighborhood - both she and Dad. We've lived here for my entire life. Libby's whole life, too. I think we moved in before any of us were even born.

"You see that, Duckie?" she asks again, and I roll my eyes to myself. Duckie this, Duckie that. Duckie, Duckie, Duckie. I'm used to the nickname by now, but I still hate it. And I can't shake it.

"Yeah," I say, lackluster.

"Why don't you go introduce yourself?" she asks. "Go say hi. I think they have a son about your age."

I raise my upper lip at the mention of a son. That won't go well.

"Do I have to?" I whine.

"I'd say yes," she says. "It's good for you. Maybe you'll make a friend!"

Or maybe not.

But I get up anyway, the skirt of my too-long dress flowing behind me as I stand. I tuck my red hair behind my ears and tempt to smooth down the wild curls, but it probably doesn't do much good. I stick my book under my arm and head over.

"Remember, be polite!" Mom calls out, as if I'd forget.

My pink, dinged-up jelly shoes scuff along the asphalt as I slowly make my way across our quiet street over to their driveway. I can hear a woman's voice talking, more like ordering actually, where things should go. There are men dressed in moving uniforms going in and out of the U-HAUL truck, so I make sure to stay out of their way as they go down the ramp with big pieces of furniture held between them.

I watch everything happen in front of me, stuck in a trance for a second, until I'm spoken to.

"Hello there, young lady," that same female voice says. I look away from the movers and see a woman dressed in a bright pink t-shirt with a knot at the waist and jean capris. Even in such a casual outfit, she has on big hoop earrings and an even bigger necklace. She looks fancy in a way that my mom never does. "How may I help you?"

I can't find my voice for a moment, and suddenly I feel very shy. I wet my lips and pull my book out from under my arm, holding it nervously between my hands as I shift my weight from jelly shoe to jelly shoe.

"I-I… I live across the street," I finally say, my voice no louder than a peep. "My name is April."

She flashes me a warm, welcoming smile. Even though I'm the one that's supposed to be welcoming her. "Why hello, April," she says. "What a pretty name. A pretty name for a pretty girl. How old are you, sweetie?"

"Ten," I say, my voice not grown at all.

"Ten!" she says happily. "My son's your age. Let me get him, I'm sure you two will hit it off." She holds up one finger so I'll wait, and I rock back and forth on my heels. "Jackson!" she calls, taking a few steps towards the front door. "Come outside. I have a friend for you to meet."

I'm not friends with boys. I'm not friends with anyone, so my stomach is doing flips with nerves. I know he won't like me. Nobody ever does, and I'm just used to it. I might as well just get it over with so I can go back home and get back to reading.

A scrawny boy appears, his hair in short curls on top of his head. He's wearing a pair of loose cargo shorts and a navy blue t-shirt, and he looks less than amused to be dragged out of the house by his mom. I know the feeling.

"Jackson, honey, this is April. She lives across the street."

I raise my hand in a very stiff wave. "Hi," I say, my voice clipped.

"This is my son, Jackson," the woman says. "Oh, and I'm Catherine. It's so nice of you to come over and say hello, April. We never had such nice neighbors back in Boston."

"I wanna go home," Jackson grumbles, and I shoot my eyes over to him for a second.

"This is your home now," Catherine says. "Why don't you and April go play? There's a jungle gym in the backyard. You were so excited about that yesterday."

I blink silently at the both of them, waiting to be told what to do next. Catherine pushes Jackson from between the shoulder blades slightly, and he leans forward.

"Take her to the jungle gym," she says, a bit more forcefully. "Be a good host. She came over to welcome you. Don't be rude."

He looks up from the driveway and meets my eyes. His stand out like crazy against the color of his skin.

"Wanna see my jungle gym?" he asks, sounding less than amused.

"Sure," I agree, and follow him to the backyard.

We're quiet as we walk, but I'm impressed by the wooden structure and hurry straight to the swings. There are two, so he sits down on the one next to me. I don't swing high, and I keep my book on my lap.

"So you miss your old house, huh?" I ask after a few moments, my hands clutching the rubber-covered chains of the swing.

"Yeah," he says. "And my friends. I don't even know anybody here."

I swing a little higher, jutting my legs straight out and smiling. "Well, you know me now. Kinda."

"Kinda."

As I go higher, my book falls from my lap and lands with a thump onto the long green grass. Jackson looks down, then picks it up.

"Where The Sidewalk Ends?" he says, flipping it open. "I have this, too." He turns more pages, and a small smile sneaks onto his face. "I like 'My Beard.'"

" _My beard grows to my toes, I never wears no clothes, I wraps my hair, around my bare, and down the road I goes_ ," I recite, my head thrown back and my hair floating down towards the ground.

"Hey, whoa," he says. "You know that without looking?"

I pick my head up and slow down my swinging. "I have all of them memorized."

He looks at me with an amused expression on his face. "Why?" he asks. "How?"

I stand up from the swing and lean on the wood of the jungle gym, then kick the pole with my heel. "I've read that book a lot of times."

He raises his eyebrows. "Why reread a book?"

"Because I like it," I say, shrugging. "And we don't have a lot of other books."

"Why?"

I shrug again. "My parents have a lot of rules on what books we're allowed to read," I explain.

He cocks his head to one side, obviously confused. "Why?" he asks again.

I sigh. "Because of God," I say. "They don't like books with witches and magic and stuff in them. Last year, I got in really big trouble for hiding a Goosebumps book under my bed. I never even got to finish it."

His eyes light up. "Wait here," he says, and rushes up from the swing. He runs around the side of his house and is only gone for a moment before he comes trotting back with an armful of paperbacks.

He drops to his knees on the grass in front of the swings and I follow his lead, my dress fanning out around me as I lower to the ground.

"Here," he says. "I have almost all of them. Look. I have 'The Girl Who Cried Monster,' 'The Haunted Mask,' 'Stay Out of the Basement,' 'The Werewolf of Fever Swamp,' 'Say Cheese and Die!,' 'One Day at Horrorland,' 'Welcome to Camp Nightmare,' and 'Phantom of the Auditorium.'" He looks up at me. "These are awesome. You have to read them."

I look at all the covers displayed before me and wish that I could. "My mom will find them and kill me," I say. "I got grounded for a month when she found this one." I point to 'One Day at Horrorland,' and he picks it up and hands it over.

"Then read it here," he says, pointing up to the jungle gym. "We can keep them up there. And you can just come over and read whenever you want."

A smile pulls on my lips. "Really?"

"Yeah," he says. "It'll be fun. It can be like a secret hideout."

"It can be like a secret club," I say, my voice rising with excitement.

"A secret book club," he says. "Only you and me. No one else allowed."

"Yeah!"

"Yeah."

So that's what we did. For the rest of the summer, after chores and prayer in the morning, I'd tell my mom I was going to play with Jackson. She was happy I'd made a new friend, and soon I didn't even have to tell her where I was going. She always knew. That's the place where I always was.

Catherine made us lunch every day - sometimes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, sometimes macaroni and cheese if we were lucky. And every Friday, she'd take us out for ice cream and a drive with the windows down.

Towards the end of the summer, I put down a book that I was almost finished with. "Are you going to Parkwood Upjohn for fifth grade?" I ask, realizing that I hadn't asked yet.

"Yeah," he says. "Do you go there?"

I nod. "Who do you have?" I say.

"Mrs. Coleman," he answers. "What about you?"

I feel excited, but I tell myself to stop. "I have her, too," I say, then shrug. "But, you know… I don't know."

"What?" he says.

"I don't know," I say. "It's not like you have to hang out with me at school or anything."

He looks confused. "Why wouldn't I? You're my friend. You're my only friend, so that kinda makes you my best friend."

My chest feels warm and fuzzy; I've never felt that before. "Oh… I… I don't know. Kids don't really like me that much. I get picked on. So it was gonna be okay if you didn't want that to happen to you."

"No way, April," he says. "You're my best friend. And I'm your best friend, right?"

I can't help but smile, because he is. Over this summer, we've transformed into each other's other half. "Yeah," I agree.

He sticks out his hand for me to shake, and I do. Firmly. "Best friends stick together," he says, and it's a promise.

SPRING 1999

"All of this stuff for the eighth grade dance is so annoying," Jackson says, cruising beside me on his bike as we ride through town.

"You're such a downer," I say, pedaling a little faster to keep up with him. My hair - still wild - flows behind me like a miniature cape. "It seems fun."

He shoots me a look and coasts. "Seriously?"

I coast alongside him and we stop at a convenience store to go inside and get two pops. This is what we always do after school. "Seriously," I answer, propping up my kickstand. "I've never been to a dance before."

We walk inside and the door dings, and the clerk behind the counter, Mick, gives us a wave. We give one back.

"Angel, they're not that cool," he says, using the nickname that he coined for me years ago. After finding out how religious my family is, I turned from 'April' into 'Angel.' I don't respond, and he raises his eyebrows at me while he pulls a Pepsi from the cooler. "Are you really gonna make me go?"

I roll my eyes and kick the inside of his knee so he loses his balance. "Don't be such a party-pooper," I say. "Why not? You don't even have to dress up that much." He kicks his leg out to get me back, but I dodge it. "Too slow," I tease. I hold him by the shoulders and rattle him around, and his head bobs this way and that. "Come on," I say. "Go with me. It'll be fun."

He sighs deeply but caves in fast. "Fine," he says. "I'll freaking go. Happy?"

"Happy," I say, and we saunter up to the counter to pay. Sometimes, Jackson will pay for mine. Today is one of those days.

We ride to Milham Park and ditch our bikes by the river, then sit with our feet in the water while we sip our drinks. I lay back with my arms above my head, and he reclines next to me.

"Are you gonna be in Davis's play?" he asks.

"I don't know," I say. "Maybe."

"You'd be good," he says. "You could sing."

"Yeah, right," I say. "Only person who's ever heard me sing is you. Well, and my church. No way am I singing in front of everybody at school. They'd throw tomatoes at me."

"Shut up," he says, nudging me with his foot. I laugh. "They would not."

"Okay, you would, then," I say.

"I'll get my mom to stop by the farmer's market and pick some up," he says.

"Good," I say. "At least they'll be fresh."

Our laughter dies off and I squint up at the sky, using one hand under my head as a pillow as I move my feet absentmindedly around in the chilly water.

"Saw Mark asking out Lexie for the dance today," Jackson says, seemingly out of nowhere.

I laugh slightly. "Knew that would happen," I say.

"It kinda got me thinking," he says, but doesn't finish his thought.

I turn my head towards him and notice a ladybug crawling across my pale arm. I watch it, and let it stay.

"About what?" I prompt.

He sighs. "I don't know. Don't make this weird, okay?"

I sit up with my hands supporting my weight behind me. "I'm the queen of making things weird," I say with a laugh.

"For real," he says. "I mean, if we're gonna go to this dance together, do you wanna go… as my date?"

My lips part in pure surprise. Never in a million years did I think that Jackson would ask me that. It was so unrealistic to me that I put the thought of it completely out of my mind, so I'm a little bit in shock.

"I… as your date?" I stammer.

"If you don't want to, you don't have to," he says. "Just forget I ever said it."

"No, no," I say. "You seriously… you wanna take _me_?"

He meets my eyes - aqua on green. "Of course," he says. "You're my best friend. And we might as well call it a date. It looks like one to everyone else, anyway."

When he mentions everyone else, my stomach sinks. "People are gonna talk," I say. "And laugh, and tease you. For bringing me."

"Who cares," he says, flopping onto his back. I stay sitting. "Fuck them."

"Jackson," I say, widening my eyes. "Don't cuss."

He smiles softly and meets my eyes from the ground. "So will you?" he asks. "Go with me like that?"

I blush, but I turn my head to hide it. I don't want him to see. "Yeah," I say. "Yeah, I'll go with you like that."

My mom makes me wear a long-sleeved dress to the dance, but I don't care. Jackson's mom does my hair and makeup, and by the time I'm ready to go, I feel like a princess. My mom takes pictures of me by myself, with my sisters, and a few with Jackson, too.

"Have fun tonight," she says, walking with us to Catherine's car that she'll drive us to the dance in. "And April, remember. Leave room for Jesus."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her old-world way of thinking. "Yes, mom," I say. "I'll be home by 9."

"Good girl," she says, and kisses me on the cheek. "You look beautiful."

After Catherine drops us off at the school, we walk into the gym where loud music is already playing. I look over at Jackson, who's wearing a pair of dark jeans and a button-up shirt that's a little too big for him, and see that he looks nervous and awkward, which is unusual.

"You all good?" I ask, nudging him with my elbow.

He flinches like he was lost in his own little world. "Yeah," he says. "Wanna dance?"

I nod and we make our way to the gym floor turned dance floor, and jump up and down like crazy to Cher's 'Believe.' By the time it's over, we're both laughing and sweating, and need to take a break at the edge of the crowd to get some punch and catch our breath.

"I love that song," I say, still a little breathless.

"I know you do," he says, then mimics her voice. "Do you believe in life after love!"

"After love, after love, after love!"

I double over laughing after I finish the verse for him, my eyes pinched shut tight. When I come back up, he's looking at me, still smiling. "Let's get back out there," he says, so we do.

We only catch the tail end of the next fast song though, and it fades into a slow one. I'd recognize it anywhere - 'Dreaming of You' by Selena. We trade a look and I wonder if he wants to go stand by the side again, but he doesn't make any move to leave.

"Uh… wanna stay?" he asks, finding it hard to meet my eyes.

I blush. I'm glad the light is so low, because he definitely wouldn't have missed it. "Sure," I say, and take a few tentative steps closer to him.

"I…" he says, but never finishes his thought. Before I know it, his hands are planted firmly on my waist, holding me a bit too tightly, but I don't say anything about it.

We can't look at each other. I'm chewing on my bottom lip, tasting the lip gloss that I borrowed from Libby, and looking just to the right of his head. I lift up my arms and rest my hands on his shoulders, and for the entirety of the song, we sway back and forth - basically just shifting our weight from foot to foot - not really dancing at all.

But we're close. Closer than we've ever been before, at least in a situation like this. And I don't know how to feel about that. I don't know how to interpret the jumpy feeling in my belly.

When the song is done, there's a charged silence between us even though the next song is fast with a heavy beat. His hands stay on my waist and I feel his fingers dig in again, and he's staring at my mouth.

"I…" he stammers, then his tongue darts out to lick his lips. "I think I wanna kiss you."

My face heats up. I have no idea what to say back, he's my best friend. Does this jumpy, excited, nervous feeling mean that I want to kiss him, too?

"Okay," I whisper.

He drops his hands from my waist and takes my wrist, leading me away from the fray of people. There are teachers and chaperones on every corner, so we can't do it here.

I know where he's taking me. We always hang out against the wall outside the school after class lets out, and when we open the doors out into the crisp night, I recognize where we're headed. It's quiet - we're the only ones out here - and his grip doesn't leave my wrist until we're in our normal spot, facing each other.

"I… um," I say, wringing my hands in front of me. "I've never kissed anyone before."

He's staring at my mouth again. "Me, neither," he admits.

"So should we just… do it?" I ask, blinking profusely.

"You wanna?" he asks, making sure.

I nod.

Then it happens. Suddenly, our lips are pressed together and it's really not pleasant at all. My hands are loose by my sides and his are planted firmly on my shoulders, and when I open my eyes, his are screwed shut so I copy him.

I don't know how long it lasts, but it feels like forever before we pull away. We blink at each other, trade confused glances, then start cracking up.

"That was weird," I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Really weird," he agrees, and we start to laugh harder.

"Let's not do it again," I say.

"Agreed," he says, sighing. "Best friends?"

"Best friends."

"Let's go back inside."

SUMMER 2004

"Are you gonna miss this place?"

I'm in Jackson's passenger seat, somewhere I find myself often. We're driving through town in the middle of the day, during the summer after our senior year with nothing better to do. We both move away to college tomorrow.

I'm going to New York, he's going to Washington. We're going to be apart for the first time, and it's scaring the hell out of me.

"What, good old K-Zoo?" he asks, smiling at the windshield. "Honestly, you know what? Yeah."

I grin over at him, looking over my shoulder with my forearms still resting on the window. "Yeah?" I ask, then set my chin back down. "Me, too."

We drive down West Main with my hair flying in the wind from the open windows, the radio playing as loud as it'll go. 'She Will Be Loved' by Maroon 5 comes on and Jackson belts it as usual, and I laugh like I always do.

"You sound like crap," I say at a stoplight, and he sings even louder.

We pull up to his driveway and park the car, just sitting there for a few seconds.

"I have to go in and finish packing," he says, tossing his head back as he groans.

"Me, too," I say. "I'll help you."

We get out of the car. "Yeah?" he asks.

"Yeah, sure," I say.

We get up to his room and I see his stuff in disarray everywhere, like a tornado came through here. I sit down on the edge of his unmade bed and raise my eyebrows as I look at all of it.

"You are insufferable," I say.

"Oh, Angel," he says, knocking my knees with one of his. "Come on. You're gonna miss me."

I look up at him as he stands and smiles and feel my heart pang with something that's become very familiar to me in the past three months. I am going to miss him. So much. He's the best friend I've ever had, and I'm not sure if I know how to live my life without him. We've been attached at the hip since we were 10, and now suddenly that will all change.

What if I don't know him when he comes home for Thanksgiving? What if he doesn't like me anymore, what if he finds new, cooler friends and ditches me?

"Angel," he prompts. "Don't check out on me. What're you thinking about?" he asks, kneeling down to gather unfolded clothes in a giant heap that he dumps on the bed behind me.

I flop onto my back, my arms stretched out wide. "Doesn't matter," I say.

"If I had a dollar for every time you said that, I could forget about borrowing money for student loans," he says. "Spit it out."

I crinkle my forehead and look at him from where I lie. "Things are gonna be different now," I say, a bit timidly.

"What do you mean?"

"We're moving away," I say. "Far away. The last time we were apart for more than a day is when I went to bible camp when we were 12, and-"

"I hated being without you so much that I enrolled the next year," he laughs, folding. "Classic."

I sigh. "See? It's not like you can just… enroll at Vassar or I can just become a student at UW."

"I wouldn't wanna be a big-shot doctor anyway," he says, trying to keep his tone light. "Pretty soon, you're gonna be way too cool for me."

"Stop," I say, my eyes wandering. "That's not funny."

He pauses for a second. "I don't mean it," he says. "Come on. We've been best friends for almost ten years. You think we're just gonna… I don't know, forget about each other?" He shakes his head. "No way. That could never happen."

Suddenly, I feel very insecure. I feel the way I felt before I knew him.

"I don't wanna talk about it anymore," I mumble, picking at my fingernails.

We're quiet for a long time, so long that I turn over on my side and fall asleep while he packs.

When I wake up, I've rolled onto my back and feel Jackson sitting next to my head, stroking my hair. I told him once that my mom used to do that when I was a kid and needed comfort, so when I'm upset he always does it. It's sweet.

I blink my eyes open and find him already looking at me, though he darts his eyes away when I wake up.

"Hey," he says, and his hand doesn't stop moving on my head. It feels so good as he pets my hair away from my face and runs his fingers through the soft curls.

"How long was I out?" I ask, voice still sleepy.

"Only about an hour," he says, looking down at me again. His facial expression is soft and open, and his eyes are shiny with emotion.

"I should get home," I say. "I have to pack, too."

I stand up from the bed, already missing his fingers in my hair, and straighten my clothes. He's sitting now, so I lean over the side of the bed and give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Want me to come back later?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says. "We should order pizza. Have a night like usual."

"Sounds good," I say. "I'll be back, then. Love you."

"Love you," he says, and I wave over my shoulder as I walk out of his bedroom door and down the stairs.

As I'm packing the last of my things in my room, I start to cry. Everything is going to change, and we both know it. He can't admit it, but I know how it'll play out.

I'm so scared of losing him. I know I'll never get another person in my life who means as much to me as Jackson does. He's been with me through everything - from when I lost my last tooth to when I learned how to drive. He was there. And now, he won't be.

He's a staple in my life that's just a part of the woodwork by now. He's practically a part of my family and I'm practically a part of his. I don't know why I chose to go to school so far away, especially so far away from him. But I've never been the type of girl who chooses her future depending on someone else - especially someone who isn't even her boyfriend.

It would be silly to choose a college depending on where he's going, and the same goes for the opposite. We have to live our own lives, I know that. But it doesn't make this any easier.

After all of my things are packed and my room is completely empty, I take a look around before leaving to go back to Jackson's. My bed is stripped save for a blanket and pillow that I'll use tonight, there's nothing on or in my dressers, and all of the pictures are taken down and tucked away. I'll put them all back up in my dorm, but right now this just looks sad. I can barely stand here for another second.

I turn my back on my empty room and head across the street slowly. I don't bother with knocking or calling out that I'm here, we're both so used to just walking into each other's houses. We've been doing it for years.

Catherine isn't home tonight - she's at a banquet or something, I think Jackson said, so the house is quiet. It's so quiet that I wonder if he's asleep up in his room, so I walk up the stairs to go check.

I hear soft sounds coming from behind his door, and it sounds like he's watching TV. It's not closed all the way, though, so I push it open.

"Hey-"

My eyes widen when I see what state I've interrupted him in. He has one hand in his pants and a bottle of lotion at his side, and he instantly whips his hand out to fumble with the remote. I catch what's on the TV, though, before he can shut it off. Two people, assumedly having sex, with the guy's face between the girl's legs.

"Oh, fuck," he says, finally getting the screen to power off. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. God, April, I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd be back over yet, I-"

I keep my back turned. "Don't worry about it!" I squeak, still able to picture so clearly what was on the screen. More than anything, it confused me. Why was his head between her legs?

"God, no, for real. I'm sorry. Jesus, I'm sorry."

I turn back around and will the flush from my cheeks away. "It's fine," I say, clearing my throat. I stand awkwardly at the foot of his bed and my eyes dart around the room - landing anywhere but the bulge in his sweatpants. He obviously wasn't finished.

I bite my lower lip, a thousand questions pushing to the front of my mind. I scratch one eyebrow as I raise them, and look at his familiar bedspread.

I wring my hands together and let out a deep breath, and I can feel him staring. Wondering what I'm going to say next, probably still feeling mortified, though he shouldn't.

"Why was…" I begin, forcing my eyes up to meet his. "Why was his face in her vagina?" I ask, crinkling my face up. "That's gross."

I look at him and his face softens. He even laughs a little bit - soft and relieved, though. He's not laughing at me.

"It's not gross," he says.

My stomach is doing flips as we stare at each other - him sitting there shirtless with an erection and me, standing in pajama shorts, tank top, and a zip-up hoodie. Unzipped.

Sex is something I rarely think about. But when I do, it's always sex… with him.

I don't trust anyone - especially not another man - to see me the way he does. I can't imagine my first time being with anyone else. So at night while I'm about to go to sleep, sometimes I let myself fantasize what it might be like to _be_ with him. Like that.

He's had a couple girlfriends before, but to my knowledge, he's still a virgin. I don't know how far he's gone other than that, but we're on the same page with one thing. Neither of us have gone all the way yet.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, breaking me from my own thoughts.

I answer without censoring. "Sex," I say, then blush violently. I don't know if I meant to say that out loud, but now I can't take it back.

He half-smiles. "Yeah," he says. "Me, too." He clears his throat. "But that was probably pretty obvious. You can sit, you know."

I tentatively sit down at the edge of his bed, one knee bent and the other foot flat on the floor. I'd usually get closer to him, but his erection seems to be staring me in the face and I'm intimidated.

"Do you think you'll…" He raises his eyebrows, supposing that I'll catch the innuendo. I do. "You know. At Vassar?"

I intertwine my fingers on my lap. "I don't know," I say quietly. "Maybe." I look at him square in the eyes. "Will you?"

He shrugs. "Probably."

I chuckle humorlessly, my shoulders lifting just once. "All the girls are gonna go crazy after you," I mutter.

"What?" he says incredulously. "How about you? All those dudes are gonna be following you with their tongues hanging out."

"Jackson," I scold lightly.

"Seriously," he says. "Don't let your first time be with some douche, Angel. You deserve better than that. You deserve your first time to be with a guy who's cool, you know. A guy who loves you. Cares about you."

We make telling eye contact and my breath catches in my throat. I hope he knows what I'm thinking, because I feel like I'm thinking it loud enough for him to hear.

"So… you," I whisper, turning more to face him.

His eyes widen, like he never thought I would say that. I never thought I would, either. Not out loud. I've been thinking it this whole summer - watching him as his body changed. He's a man now, and he looks like one. A man who is moving very far away from me, who I might not know when he comes back.

I want the version of him that I know to have a part of me that I can never get back. No matter what, he'll always have it. No matter how much the both of us change.

"Really?" he asks.

I try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach as I wonder if he feels the same way. If he doesn't, I'll feel like an idiot. A huge idiot. And I'll never be able to show my face to him again, so it's a good thing he's moving across the country.

But what's more, that's why I said it. What is there to lose?

Besides everything.

"Because…" he says. "I don't really know how to say this. But I've kind of been thinking about you the whole summer. I hope that's not weird. And… I… uh…" he sighs, situating. "We're moving so far away from each other. And there are gonna be assholes at Vassar, and Angel, I really don't want them to hurt you. Like I said, your first time should be with-"

"Someone who makes me feel special," I say, hands capped on my knees. "You do."

His lips part. "I…" he begins, but doesn't finish his thought for a while. "I wanna have sex with you, too," he finally admits. "I promise I wasn't checking you out all summer. I just… I did, um, a lot of thinking…"

"Me, too," I say, and his eyebrows twitch.

"You did?"

I nod. "So… should we?" I ask.

He takes in a big breath that makes his chest expand. "I want to," he says. "You're sure, right?"

I nod again. "I want this," I say, scanning his body. "I want you."

"Okay," he says with a smile. "I-I have condoms. My mom bought me them for school, totally embarrassing. I didn't think I'd be using them so soon, but… you know. Let me crack open this baby."

He rips open the cardboard box and I unzip my hoodie, then shed it to the floor and kick it to the side. I'm left in just my tank top and shorts, feeling jumpy and excited.

"Jackson, you've…" I begin, unsurely. "You're still a virgin, too, right?"

He looks at me, directing his concentration away from the box of condoms. "Yeah," he says. "Angel, you're gonna be the one who takes my purity. How's that feel?"

We crack up laughing like we always do, and I realize I'm still an awkward distance away from him on the bed.

"Are you gonna come up here?" he asks. "Or do you want me to come to you? Because I can. You should be comfortable. You're comfortable, right? This isn't weird? Because if it's weird, we don't-"

"Shut up," I say, rolling my eyes and crawling on my hands and knees over to him. I sit at his side and he turns to face me, and I see that we're both breathing quickly. He's nervous, too. For some reason, that comforts me.

"So, can I kiss you?" he asks, his gaze darting between my eyes and my lips.

"Yeah," I breathe.

We haven't kissed since the eighth grade, so I'm nervous how this will go. Last time wasn't all that great, and I haven't kissed anyone else since then, so my hopes aren't high.

But this kiss - this one's different. Instead of just two pairs of lips smashed together, he's gentle and attentive. One hand rests on my jaw and the other on my waist, turning his head so he catches my mouth at an angle. I melt into him, wondering how he knows just what to do, and feel my heartbeat speed up even more.

When he pulls away, I'm panting. He pushes a strand of hair behind my ears and says, "Your pupils are huge," with a smile.

I can't resist him now. I hold the sides of his neck in my hands and kiss him again, feeling a fire lit in my belly that only appears every once in awhile. I want him. I want him really bad.

Both of his hands find my waist now, and he digs his thumbs in and pulls me closer. I make a small sound into his mouth and lose my breath when he moves his lips to my neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there. I had no idea that this could feel so good. I always thought that girls who came to school with hickies were trashy and sloppy, but now I hope he covers me with them.

"You are so beautiful," he says, his lips on my throat.

My eyes flutter shut. This must be a dream. I have no idea how I ended up here, but I never want it to stop.

He kisses down the open skin on my chest, and I make a bold move and pick up his hand - then move it to my breast. I gasp a little and he tenses, but I push his palm against me further.

"Touch me," I say, nodding him along. "Jackson, it's okay."

"We're gonna do this?" he confirms.

I nod, a piece of my lower lip in my mouth. He kisses me, and I release it.

He gets me out of my tank top and I'm lying under my best friend in only my light blue bra. He draws a path of kisses from my sternum lower, pausing at the bow between each bra cup, and then moving down to my ribcage. He opens his mouth wide on my stomach, his tongue drawing nonsense shapes over the warm skin that I never thought anyone would touch like this.

My hips squirm and a tightening feeling appears - one that I don't know what to do with. I'm hoping Jackson figures it out.

He slides his hands under my back and undoes the clasp of my bra, and I keep it on for just a second before sliding the straps down my arms slowly. I let out a deep breath as I cast it to the side, but keep my arms where they are so I'm still covered.

"You seriously wanna see me?" I ask self-consciously.

He nods. His pupils are huge, just like he said mine had been. I don't know what that means, but it only makes the insistent feeling between my legs grow.

"More than anything," he says. "But only if you want to."

I gather my courage and move my arms away, and Jackson meets my eyes before pressing gentle kisses the the swell on the underside of my breast. I whimper softly as he kisses higher and finds my nipple, and need to squeeze my thighs together to quell that feeling that's driving me crazy.

He holds one side of my ribcage and sucks on it, gentle at first and then harder. His hips twitch against my leg, and I can barely see straight. I never knew I could feel like this. I let my fingers rest on the back of his neck as he alternates his attention from breast to breast, and let my eyes close as the feelings take me. I can barely handle this - it's so much.

When I'm melted beneath him, he looks up at my face and steals a kiss on my jaw. "Did that feel good?" he asks.

I nod as best I can.

"Then just wait and see how this feels," he says, and kisses his way down my body until he gets to my pajama shorts. He unties the silk string slowly and I can't help but watch him, my hands covering my breasts again. He pulls the shorts down my legs so I'm lying there in my blue-and-white striped underwear with the red button at the top, and before I know it, his mouth is open on me through the cloth.

My eyes roll back in my head and the small of my back lifts from the mattress. I moan - I've never moaned before, but I literally moan - as I feel his tongue run along the fabric.

"You're wet," he says, pressing sporadic kisses to a place no one's ever touched.

Of course I am. He's been turning me on like crazy for the past however-long.

"I know," I breathe, and he locks his fingers around the edge of my underwear and pulls them down. Before I have a chance to brace myself, his mouth is on my bare skin and his tongue is inside me, and I'm moaning his name. "Jackson," I say, losing my breath. "Is it supposed to feel this good… oh, my _god_ …"

"Told you it's not gross," he says, and holds onto my outer thighs. I can't keep still beneath him, and he doesn't make me. He lets me experience everything he's making me feel at full capacity, and I don't know what I was doing before, not knowing what this felt like. This is magic - this is the closest I've ever gotten to heaven, with his mouth on me.

"Jackson," I squeak, a little while later. "I feel, it's… I don't… I'm…"

"Are you close?" he murmurs, and I nod shakily.

He hitches my hips closer to him, which makes my back scoot lower on the mattress. He opens his mouth wide and touches something electric inside me, which makes me cry out in a little staccato scream as my breaths come unevenly.

"Angel," he says, pressing wayward kisses all over my outer lips and inner thighs. "Come."

He sucks on that same spot and I do as he says, pinching my eyes shut tight as I grip handfuls of his bedspread in my fists. My hips buck upwards out of my control, and he doesn't stop as I squirm around underneath him. He doesn't stop until I'm weak and spent, breathing hard as he crawls up from between my legs.

"See," he says. "Not gross."

I meet his eyes, mine half-lidded, and close them as he kisses me. "How did you know how to do that?" I ask, tipping my head to one side as he kisses my neck again.

"I… uh…" he stammers, then just comes out with it. "A lot of porn."

"Oh," I say, laughing a little. "Well, you're really good."

"Thanks," he says, and kisses my collarbones and moves out to my freckled shoulder, then down my arm.

"Jackson," I say, as he's kissing the sound outline of my breast. "Can we do it now?"

He makes heavy eye contact with me and I watch him, my lip in my mouth again. He nods and gets the condom, and after he has it, he finally takes his pants and boxers off.

I can't stop staring once he does. He's fully hard - so it seems - and I swear it's looking at me. And it's big.

"I don't wanna hurt you," he says.

"I'll be fine," I reply, watching him roll the condom on. I've never seen a penis before, and I'm glad his is the first, but still. It's almost scary to look at for too long. I know it's Jackson's body part, but it almost seems like it's separate from him.

I start to laugh because of that thought, unable to stop myself.

"Are you laughing at my dick?" he asks, hovering over me.

"No!" I say, my hands on his forearms. "No. It's… your penis is very nice. And big. And, uh…" I clear my throat. "Big."

He presses his lips together in a smirk. "Just tell me if you want me to slow down, or-or stop, or anything."

"Okay," I say. "You can… you can go ahead."

He holds my hips as he pushes inside me, and the feeling is foreign even just after the head is in. I widen my legs, my brow furrowing with concentration, and take a sharp intake of breath once he's gone halfway.

"Hold on," I say, licking my lips. He stays still and doesn't go any further, he just bends to kiss me while I get acclimated. "Okay," I say, giving him the go-ahead after a few more seconds pass.

When he's all the way inside, I let a long gust of air out through puckered lips. It doesn't necessarily hurt, but there's a pinching feeling that makes my toes curl.

But I feel better once I look up into his face and see him watching me. This is Jackson, and I trust him.

"Go ahead," I say, and he starts to move his hips slowly and deftly.

He makes low sounds in his throat while he pumps into me, and I can tell he's trying to make it feel good. It not really working, though. He's definitely filling me, but it's not the same sensation as before. But I don't show that, because I don't want him to feel like he did something wrong. Because he definitely didn't. And it feels good for him; I can see that much.

When he comes, he collapses on top of me and breathes heavily, his face in my neck. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold him as tight as I can. I never want to let him go. I don't want this to end. I don't want to travel hundreds of miles away from him tomorrow.

I want to keep us right here.

"You didn't come," he breathes, a few moments after he's recovered from his orgasm.

"I-I know," I say, holding the side of his face with one hand. "But that's okay. I did… with… you know, your mouth-"

"Let me make you come again," he says, pulling out and tying the condom off. "Do you want me to? I feel bad that you didn't and I did, and it didn't feel good. I could tell it didn't feel good. Angel, do you wanna have another orgasm?"

I look into his face, so earnest and eager, and really do want it. "Yeah," I nod, and he does it to me again with his mouth and tongue.

After it's over, we're both very sweaty as we lie next to each other. Now that the heat of the moment has passed, I feel nervous again, and perhaps even worse than before.

I just had sex with my best friend in the whole world. I gave my virginity to him. There's no one else I would've rather given it to; I'm glad it was Jackson. But at the same time, I'm losing him. I know I am. We're going too far away from each other for things to be easy anymore.

"I can't stay," I whisper.

He strokes my cheekbone with his thumb and his eyes practically melt me. "I know," he says.

Our families will say goodbye tomorrow morning, but this one is for us. Like always, it's just me and him. Together. Alone.

And now we have a part of each other that no one else has.

"Are you glad we did that?" he asks.

I nod, and mean it.

"Me, too," he says, and leans to kiss me softly. I linger for a second too long, my eyes closed as I feel them burn with the onset of tears.

When I open my eyes, he blinks his open, too. We stare at each other for a second, damp hair plastered to our heads, smelling like sweat and sex, but it doesn't matter. We're together, and that's what counts.

"I love you," he says, and the words hold weight. They're more meaningful than just a 'love you' thrown over the shoulder, and I know this. And he knows I know.

"I love you, too," I whisper back, and kiss him one last time before I gather my clothes and go back home.

PRESENT

We tried to keep up with each other. Whether it was a letter here, a phone call there, we tried. But Catherine moved away from Kalamazoo soon after Jackson went to Washington - back to Boston. When he came home for holidays, he didn't come home to me.

I was valedictorian at Vassar and went to Princeton for med school, where I graduated the top of my class. I hoped I would see him at my graduation - I even sent him an invite, though we hadn't seen each other or spoken in years. He didn't show.

I moved back to Kalamazoo and work as a trauma attending at Borgess hospital downtown. I live in a house on Edgecliff Lane. It's too big for just me, but I tell myself that it'll be perfect for when I'm ready to settle down and have kids.

I'm 31 now and have a new circle of friends. The last I heard about the Avery family was that Catherine passed away, and I sent my regards but was too far away and too busy to attend her funeral. I thought about it for weeks, though. I wanted to call Jackson, but had no number to reach him.

Every trace of him is nearly wiped from my conscious. I still hold all of our memories close to my heart, but he isn't someone I think about daily. I've come to terms with the fact that we'll probably never see each other again.

That is, until he showed up on my doorstep.


	2. Chapter 2

JACKSON

SPRING 1996

As the bell rings for recess, everyone gets up and makes their way to the door in a big stampede, even as our teacher, Mrs. Coleman, tries to slow them down.

"Make a straight line! One at a time, one at a time!" she urges, but no one listens.

I sigh and plunk my chin in my palm. April stands from her desk right next to mine and pokes me in the shoulder with a pencil. "You coming?" she asks.

I look up at her. Today, she's wearing overalls, but they're not long pants, they're shorts. It's late May, but her legs are still as pale as ever and freckly, too. She's wearing a white blouse underneath it, patterned with little flowers. There's a pizza sauce stain from lunch by the buttons.

She tucks her hair behind one ear and looks at me expectantly.

"I can't," I say. "I have to finish my times tables first."

She shrugs on shoulder. "That's okay. I'll wait with you."

"April, time to head outside," Mrs. Coleman says, walking back in from the hallway after seeing the rest of our classmates to recess. "Jackson will be there in just a few minutes. He didn't want to use his time wisely during class, so he'll be using it now."

"I don't mind-" April begins, but our teacher cuts her off.

"Well, that's nice. But I mind. Personal recess time is spent alone, that's the rule. He'll join you outside in just a little while. Now head out, please."

Defeated, April gives me a little wave and heads out the door, her dirty tennis shoes scuffing all the way down the hall. I scrunch up my forehead and work on multiplying as best as I can, but it doesn't come easy for me. Earlier, I got in trouble for talking while everyone else was doing this. I can't concentrate very well. Mrs. Coleman says that if I keep it up, she'll sit me at a table all by myself in the corner. I don't want that, so I take time away from my recess instead.

I try and take my time, but all I can think about is racing April. Every day during second recess, we go to the field and race. Some days she wins and some days I do. We're the fastest in our class. No one can beat us.

I really want to be out there racing her instead of in this stupid, stuffy classroom working on stupid, hard multiplication. I'm not good at math. The numbers get all mixed up in my head. April always helps me when we have homework, so the fact that she's not here right now to guide me really sucks and only makes things way harder.

But I do finish, magically before recess lets out. "Done, Mrs. Coleman!" I say excitedly, sticking my sheet of paper in the air.

She asks me to bring it to her so she can go over it, so I do. I bounce from foot to foot as she checks each problem, impatient with how long she's taking. When she finally tells me that I'm free to go, I practically run out of the classroom and onto the playground.

After I'm out the door and onto the asphalt, I squint against the sunlight and look around for April. Her shock of red hair usually isn't hard to spot, but today it doesn't stick out to me right away. I scan the monkey bars, the swings, and the picnic tables, but I don't see her anywhere. I glance out towards the field, thinking that maybe she's waiting for me there, but she's not.

I sigh and start walking around aimlessly, hoping I'll come across her. My attention is piqued when I hear raised voices by the basketball hoops, and when I look over I see who I've been looking for.

But April's not alone. I can't hear what's being said, but I can see that she's standing across from Alex Karev and his friend, Meredith Grey. They're talking right in her face and without having to think about it, an angry feeling rises up in my gut and I jog to them.

As I head over, April's shoulders turn in and her face transforms into a frown as she shakes her head. Alex talks about two inches away from her, and Meredith laughs at something he says. Then he reaches out and pushes lightly on April's shoulders, which makes her step back for balance.

"Hey!" I shout, and take a few more big strides before I meet up with them. "Leave her alone."

Alex turns to me, one eyebrow raised. "Aw, look. It's Kepner's little _boyfriend_." He looks back at her. "I don't know why he likes you. Everyone knows how poor your family is, and it doesn't help that you're gross and ugly."

"Hey!" I say again, louder this time. "Don't talk to her like that!"

Without much control over myself, I take a steadying step forward and push Alex's shoulders - hard. So hard that he falls backward smack onto the pavement and hits the back of his head on it.

April and Meredith gasp, and Alex is silent for a minute before he starts screaming. "Teacher, teacher!" he wails.

I debate running away, but the playground manager is too fast.

"What is going on here?" she asks sternly.

"Jackson pushed me," Alex says, now crying for effect as he rubs the back of his head. "For no reason."

"Jackson Avery," the playground manager says. "To the principal's office. Now. Immediately."

"But, I-" I stammer. My mom is going to kill me.

"I don't want to hear it," she says. "There is no excuse for violence on my playground. The office. Now."

I sigh, getting ready to leave, then feel April's fingers on my wrist. "It wasn't all his fault," she says, her voice a tiny peep.

"Were you involved in this too, Kepner?" she asks.

I hear April's breath catch in her throat. "I, uh…" she stammers. "Yes. I was. So I guess I have to go to the principal's office, too."

There's a weird silence where I wonder what's going to happen next. I look over at her - her eyes set straight ahead, her chin raised defiantly - and kind of smile to myself.

"April, you don't-" I begin, my voice low.

"I started it," she says. "So I should go."

The playground manager eyes her. "I guess you should," she says. "Alright. Off with you both! Let's go."

She walks behind us back into the school, and leaves when we get to the office after checking in with the secretary. We sit next to each other in creaky, blue plastic chairs and the only sound in the room is the lady typing behind the tall counter that we can't see her over.

"You didn't have to come in here with me, you know," I mutter.

She swings her legs. Her feet don't touch the floor. Mine do.

"You stood up for me," she says, shrugging. She's looking straight ahead, and I'm staring down at our legs. Her knees are dirty and bare, and so are mine. I have on a pair of new shorts today that my mom bought me. "So I stood up for you. Kind of."

"What was Alex even saying to you?" I ask.

"Mean stuff," she says, and shrugs again. "Mean stuff he always says. I don't even care."

"I care," I insist. "That's not nice. He's a bully."

"I know. But he's been bullying me since forever. Nothing ever makes him stop, so…" She trails off and looks down at the floor, then kicks my leg with the tip of her shoe. "Well, except today. You made him stop."

"Yeah, for today," I say. "And we're the ones who got in trouble."

She turns towards me. "Maybe you should beat him up," she says, giggling. "That'll teach him."

I roll my eyes. "I'm not gonna beat him up. My mom would beat _me_ up."

We both laugh then and lean back in our chairs. "I'm gonna get in big trouble, too," she says. "I'll get grounded."

"Me, too."

She gasps like she got an idea. "But I can shine my flashlight into your window at night. And we can talk on the telephone cans. Even if we can't see each other."

I raise my eyebrows at her. "Those cans didn't even work."

"They kinda did!"

"Barely."

She sighs a little bit, slumping down. "Well, still. Better than nothing and being in jail in our rooms." She pauses for a second. "We didn't even get to race today."

"I would've beat you anyway."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yes-huh."

She punches me in the arm and I punch her back, and both of us break out in giggles while rubbing the spots that got hit.

"Stupid Alex was crying," I say, a few minutes later. "I didn't even push him that hard."

"It's not nice to call names," April says. "Then you're just as bad as him."

"Nobody's as bad as him," I say. "He's mean to you. That makes me mad."

She looks at me, a small smile pulling on the corners of her lips. "He's been picking on me since kindergarten," she says. "Nobody's ever even said anything before. You're the only one."

I look at her and she itches her cheek absentmindedly, looking at me with wide green eyes. "Well, duh, of course I did," I say, trying to sound nonchalant. "You're my best friend. And nobody bullies my best friend while I'm around. I'll kill them."

"I don't think you should kill him."

"But I'll teach him a lesson."

She giggles softly, bony hands overlapping her bony knees. "Thanks, I guess," she says. "Even though we got in trouble."

"I don't care about getting in trouble," I say, even though I kind of do. My mom is going to be so mad. "It was worth it, for getting to shove him and all."

She looks over at me again and makes a small sound in her throat. "It's bad to shove people," she says. "But yeah… it was kinda worth it."

We both laugh conspiratorially. "See?" I say.

Before we can say anything else, the principal comes out and stands above us. Suddenly, he seems way taller than he ever has before.

"Jackson Avery and April Kepner," he says, looming over us. "I'd like to speak with you one at a time. Mr. Avery, why don't you join me in my office."

I stand up off the chair and glance back over my shoulder at April, who's giving me a nervous look. "Good luck," she says, then spits in her palm and extends it for me to shake.

I spit in my palm, too, and shake hers. "Good luck," I say back.

On the bus ride home just a little while later, April and I are sitting next to each other with our foreheads pressed against the back of the seat in front of us.

"They called my mom," I say.

"Me, too," she replies.

"I know I have it coming when I get home," I say. "I can't do anything about it now."

"I know," she says. "I feel-"

"Aw, look at the two butt-buddies," we hear, and pick our heads up.

Alex is standing up in the seat three behind us on the other side. He's leaning forward with his hands braced on the seat in front of him, taunting us as usual.

"Jackson and April sittin' in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in a baby carriage!"

"Shut up, Alex," I grumble, scowling over my shoulder.

The three of us get off at the same spot as always, right at the entrance of our neighborhood. Unfortunately, Alex lives a few streets over from us, so we have the same bus stop.

"You wouldn't even know about being a dad, would you, though, Jackson?" Alex teases, apparently not letting this go.

My skin bristles, but I keep my shoulders hunched by my ears as I keep walking and try to ignore him.

"You don't even have a dad! He didn't love you, so he left. And I don't blame him!"

Before I can register what's happening, April spins around on her heel and punches Alex in the gut so hard that he doubles over with an 'oof!' sound.

"Don't you dare talk about him like that!" she shrieks.

She looks at me with wide, saucer eyes and her mouth open in disbelief, as Alex stays bent in half.

"Come on," I say, taking her hand as I start to run. "Let's go!"

We both know what's waiting for us when we get home to our parents. But for the block-and-a-half before we get there, we're free. And we won.

SUMMER 1997

"Are you sure you want to go to this camp?"

I look up from the suitcase I'm packing to where my mom stands in the doorway of my room. "Yeah," I say. "Hey, do you have a bible I can borrow? The list thingy says I need one."

She crinkles her forehead. "This just doesn't seem like you," she says.

I flop down on my bed, my arms limp beside me. "It's not. But April's gonna be there, and this place sucks without her."

Mom smiles like she knows something I don't.

"What?" I ask.

"Oh, nothing," she says, waving a hand over her shoulder. "I think I have an old bible around here somewhere. I'll find it for you."

Later that day, we're in the car driving to Warner Camp, which is a good distance away. I'm looking out the window and drumming my fingers on the armrest, wondering what I'm getting myself into by going here. April's been coming to this place for basically her whole life; when she was old enough to come, she did. She rants and raves about how awesome it is, and last summer I got jealous when she came back talking about her camp friends and all the cool stuff she did without me, while I was stuck at home riding my bike to the convenience store alone.

"So, she doesn't know you're coming?" my mom asks, breaking the silence a while later.

I look over at her and shake my head. "Nope," I say. "I'm surprising her."

"That should be fun."

We pull up to the camp and get signed in, then I urge my mom to leave. "You can go now, mom," I say, teeth clenched and eyes wide. "I'm good here."

"I'll miss you," she says, holding both sides of my face to give me a big kiss on the cheek. "The house is gonna be so quiet!"

" _Mom_ …" I groan.

"Okay, okay," she says, giving me one more hug. "I'll leave you alone. But do not forget to call! And write me letters. I'll see you in a month."

I wave her goodbye as she drives away, then go drop my stuff off in my cabin. When I come out, I shove my hands in my pockets and look around at all the other campers milling around, socializing with each other. It seems like everybody already has a group of friends, and I wonder if I made a mistake in coming here. Maybe April already has a group of friends, too, that she won't want to include me in. Then I'll just feel like an idiot.

I'm leaning against a big cross that's surrounded by two others when I hear my name.

"Jackson?" a voice says. "Jackson Avery? Is that you?"

I swivel around and untuck my hands from my pockets. April is standing a bit of a distance away from me, her hair in two French braids that rest on her shoulders, wearing white shorts and a pink camp t-shirt, tied at the back with a hair tie.

I raise my hand in a wave and a smile breaks onto my face.

"It _is y_ ou!" she squeals, and runs at me full-speed. She wraps her arms around my neck and makes me stumble backwards, and I hug her tight around the waist. I pick her up just a little bit - her heels lifting off the ground, but her toes staying down - and laugh over her shoulder. "What in the world are you doing here?" she asks, pulling away and moving some strands of hair out of her mouth.

I shrug.

She smiles. "Did you come because you want to learn about Jesus and memorize verses? And go to church and sing hymns?" she asks, teasing.

"Nah," I say, looking bashfully at her. "I wanted to hang out with you. And I mean, coming to bible camp can't be that bad."

She bounces up and down on the balls of her feet and squeals again, smiling bigger than I've ever seen her smile. "I'm so glad you're here!" she says. "I never expected this. Oh my gosh, come on. I really want my friends to meet you."

She introduces me to a few of the girls in her cabin, calling me her 'best friend.' Hearing that term makes me feel proud. I can't help but feel that I have something over the people here. I'm her best friend out of anyone, and no one can take that spot away. No matter how Jesus-y they are.

At dinner, I sit next to her. The cafeteria tables are so crowded that our shoulders are pressed right up against each other, and I can smell her fruity shampoo.

"Jackson's really good at science," April tells a girl across from us, who she introduced as Anastasia. She has long brown hair and glasses, and is picking at her food. She looks interested in what April's saying, though. "He won the science fair at school last year! Out of everyone, even the eighth graders."

"That's cool," Anastasia says. "My brother once tried to make one of those volcano things. But it didn't even erupt."

"Jackson did this thing on how fast acid affects erosion," she says. "It was way too smart for me. But it was really cool." She looks at me, and plants her hand on my leg and pats it. "It was super cool."

My eyebrows crease at her hand placement. Before now, I'd never really taken notice of either of our bodies. But as things start to… change… within my own, things about hers have made me react in a certain embarrassing way.

"Thanks," I say, a bit stiffly. Luckily, she moves her hand away before anything detrimental can happen and I don't have to walk to my cabin with a tray to hide my crotch.

There's a bonfire that night, but it's optional. I tell April that I'm tired, because I really am, she says she'll catch up with me later. I'm not exactly sure what later is, but I retire to my cabin alone. The three other boys I share it with are at the bonfire, so I get some peace and quiet for the first time all day.

I collapse onto my bed and close my eyes, letting out a long sigh. I'm just lying there innocently when I realize, embarrassingly, that I have a boner. For no apparent reason.

I try rolling over on my side to try and make it go away, but that doesn't work. What was I even thinking about? Please tell me I wasn't thinking about April.

I was definitely thinking about April. God, this is bad. This is really, really bad.

No matter what I do, it won't go away. It's just there. Making itself known. Not disappearing anytime soon. I know something has to be done about it, otherwise it'll be here all night. I have time now… the other boys won't be back from the bonfire anytime soon. At least, I don't think they will.

Feeling guilty and very strange for jerking off at bible camp, I stick my hand inside my pants and go as fast as I can. It's awkward and dry, but it gets the job done, and I let out a satisfied moan when it's over.

"Hey," I hear a forced whisper behind me, and roll over to see April sneaking in.

"God!" I say, and whip my hand out of my pants and wipe it on the nearest thing, which happens to be my comforter. I didn't think this situation could get any weirder, but I was apparently wrong.

"Everybody's heading to bed," she says. "Wanna sneak somewhere with me?"

I manage to sit up very gingerly, avoiding what I've done in my pants. "I… yeah, sure," I say. "Just let me change my pants."

"Why?"

"I just need to," I say.

"I'll wait outside," she says, and sneaks out the way she came in.

A few moments later, I meet her by the door and she takes me by the wrist. I cringe when I realize that I didn't get a chance to wash my hands, and she's currently very close to the fingers that were just wrapped around my dick.

"Where are we going?" I ask, whispering through the darkness. "And are we gonna get in trouble?"

She looks back at me with a dubious expression on her face. "You sound like me," she says.

"My mom said she'd kill me if I got in trouble here!" I say. "And slow down, geez."

"I don't wanna get caught by a counselor, do you?" she hisses.

"No," I retort, keeping up with her.

We keep traipsing through the trees until we get to a clearing where the lake is, and it's so clear that I can see the moon reflecting off of it.

"This is what I wanted to show you," she says, finally stopping. She drops my wrist, too. "Isn't it awesome?" She looks around and kicks off her shoes, walking on the sand closer to the water. "It's nice in the daytime, but at night it's the best. It's so peaceful."

I look at her, that light reflected off of her pale face. "You've seriously never gotten caught coming out here at night?" I ask.

"Not yet," she says mischievously, and giggles. "Come on. Let's go sit on the dock."

We go over to the dock and I take my shoes off, too, and we sit with our feet in the tranquil water.

"You know, I never thought in a million years you'd be here," she says, lying flat. I copy her and lay down, too. "You must've really missed me last year, huh?"

"I guess," I say, looking over at her and smiling.

She socks me in the shoulder. "Admit it. I'm like, your favorite person ever."

"Kinda," I say. "On a good day."

She laughs, her eyes squeezing shut. "Whatever, you love me. You don't have to say it, don't worry. I already know."

I pull my eyes away from her and look up at the stars, amazed at how many there are. We can see a good amount of them at home in Kalamazoo, but the way the look here is crazy. It's like the focus and brightness got turned up and everything is clearer.

I feel her pinky touch mine and clench my jaw, thinking that it's probably an accident. But when her fingers crawl closer and intertwine with mine, I know it's not. I grip her hand back, not saying anything in regards to it, and smile up at the midnight blue sky. Her skin is soft and warm, and I don't want to let go. We've held hands a lot - but not like this. Not in a quiet, heart-beats-fast, I-might-like-you kind of way.

I don't know what my heart is doing, but it's something weird. It's doing flips inside my chest all because a girl is holding my hand? And my best friend, no less? Feelings are so confusing.

A few moments pass before she turns her head to look at me. "Is this okay?" she asks, sounding unsure. "This isn't weird, is it?"

I shake my head quickly. "Definitely not weird," I say. "We should… um… we can keep… you can keep it there. I'll-I'll keep mine there, too."

She smiles softly, the corners of her lips turning down as she stares back at the sky. I don't know if we'll talk about this tomorrow, but all I care about is right now. This moment, with her. The person I came here for.

EARLY SUMMER 2004

It's rare that I walk into April's house and it's quiet. Between her and her three sisters, there's barely enough silence to hear yourself think. So when I walk in today and it seems like no one's around, I'm instantly curious.

She said she'd be home. Her shift at Kalamazoo 10, the movie theater down the street, doesn't start for a few hours.

"Angel?" I call out, peering around corners. "Anyone? Anyone home?"

I'm met with more silence.

But when I listen closer, I can hear something coming from upstairs. Singing, maybe? Someone's up there, and it has to be April. She told me she'd be home.

So I go up the stairs I've gone up a million times before - raced up after school, snuck down during sleepovers, and everything in between - and hear a familiar voice. It is April singing. I can't figure what song, but it doesn't matter. At least she's home and didn't leave for work early or something like that.

"It's me, Angel," I say, walking further down the hallway to the bathroom that she and her sisters share. "Don't freak out. I'm not a burglar."

"Jackson?" she calls out. "Is that you?"

"Just said it's me," I say, chuckling.

"Come in here," she says.

I screw my face up at the closed door. "In the bathroom?" I ask confusedly.

"Yeah, it's unlocked."

"Uh… okay…" I push open the bathroom door to a very steamy room, and wave some of it away with my hand. "What's up?"

The shower door is made of beveled glass, so I can see the shape of her behind it but no specifics. I direct my eyes towards the floor - this is so unlike April. She's always been super conservative about her body - less so than her mom and sisters, but more than other girls at school.

I hear the door pop open and I look up to see her head peeking out. She has a smile on her face like I've never seen her wear before - mischievous and sly. Like she's plotting something.

"Hi," she says, her voice low and smooth.

"Um, hey…" I say, eyes darting everywhere.

"I'm glad you're here," she says, head still out of the shower door. I can't look at her, though, because my guess is I'd probably be able to see other parts of her, too. And I know she wouldn't want that. "I was missing you."

"Missing me…" I say, puzzled. "You saw me this morning."

"A different kind of missing you," she says, still all sultry. "The kind where I want you in here with me."

My eyes must widen to ten times their original size. "April, wait. Wh-what?"

"Do you wanna come in here, Jackson?" she asks, and pushes the door open wider. "Look at me."

I raise my eyes and see her standing there, completely naked. My eyes drift from the slopes of her shoulders, the water dripping from her perky breasts, her flat stomach, to the slight swell of her hips and the tight V in between them. Suddenly, I have the biggest boner.

"Come in with me," she says, beckoning me forward with one finger.

I don't waste any time. I strip off my clothes and leave them in a pile by the sink, then hurry to the shower.

"Don't forget to lock the door," she says from inside.

I hurry back to the bathroom door and lock it - knowing that she's right. It'd be a nightmare if one of her family members got home. Even though I'm not exactly thinking rationally right now, I know that much is true. I'd probably get beheaded.

Once the bathroom is locked up, I go back to the shower and open it up, stepping under the hot water with her. We're unbearably close, but it's not awkward at all.

"I've been thinking about you," she says, running her hands down my chest. "I've been thinking about you in really _bad_ ways."

"For real?" I ask, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," she says, stepping closer as her hands find their way low on my hips. "Have you been thinking about me?"

I swallow loudly. I've never seen her like this before; hair slicked back with water, eyelashes all dewy and stuck together, lips pink, pouty and perfect. Right now, she is the epitome of sex. I never knew my best friend could look like this.

"I have," I admit, and let myself touch her. It's obviously what she wants. I slide my hands down her sides, over the bumps of her ribcage, and lower to rest on her waist. "A lot."

She bats her eyelashes. "Do you touch yourself and think about me?"

God damn. God _damn_. "Yeah," I say. "Do you?"

"All the time," she says, and picks up one of my hands and slides my pointer finger into her mouth. My eyes practically roll back into my head when she wraps her tongue around the tip and sucks on it, keeping heavy eye contact with me the whole time.

I pull my finger out of her mouth after a few moments and press her against the wall, trapping her body between mine and the tile. She gasps and smirks up at me, and I can feel the swell of her breasts against my chest, which is making me get even harder.

"I wanna touch you so bad…" I breathe, the side of my face pressed up against hers.

"So do it," she says, and I stand up straight to look into her eyes. "I'm yours."

I press my lips to her neck and she moans softly, melting against the wall so I can reach more skin. As my lips and tongue work her throat, one hand slips lower and runs over her breast - over the prick of her nipple, and I rub it with my thumb until it hardens to a full point.

"Mm…" she moans, and I scoop my neck lower to take her breast in my mouth. She holds the back of my head gently with her hands, breathing heavily through her mouth as her chest heaves. "That feels so good."

"Yeah?" I say, then slide my hand lower to gently touch between her legs. She makes a small sound of surprise and twitches, letting her lips part as her eyes drift to meet mine. "Has anyone ever touched you like this?" I ask.

She shakes her head no and licks her lips, then grips my wrist to guide it back. "I want you to," she whispers, and I kiss her. I open my mouth against hers and push my tongue past her lips, and she moans loudly as my fingers go inside her. She's so wet and ready without me having to do much, and that's turning me on like crazy. I had no idea she wanted me like this - like I've been wanting her.

When her breath is coming in short bursts and her hips are trembling beneath my touch, she manages to say, "I want you inside me," as she plants her hands on my shoulders.

"I don't have a condom," I say, stealing a long kiss.

She pulls away and looks deep into my eyes. "I don't care," she says. "Make love to me, Jackson."

I'm not about to say no to that. I grab her by the hips and hitch her up against the wall, pushing myself slowly inside her as she throws her head back. I situate her back on the slippery tile and kiss her neck, rocking my pelvis against hers deliberately until we find a steady rhythm that we both enjoy.

She's louder than I ever thought she'd be during sex, and I love it. Her voice bounces as I thrust against her, and her jaw falls open even wider when I push a little harder.

"You like that?" I ask, watching her breasts bounce as I pump into her and she nods as best she can. I've stolen the words from her, and that makes me feel proud. I'm making her feel things that no one else ever has before. I'm her first.

I last longer than I thought I would, long enough to watch her come unwound before I have my orgasm. Her eyelashes flutter and she grips my shoulders for dear life as her body shakes under mine, and water droplets stream down her face as her mouth falls open again.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," she moans, breathing hard. I keep pushing myself to the edge until I come too, and spill everything inside her.

"That was amazing," she moans, then says something else, but I can't hear her. Suddenly, there's music playing too loud for me to hear anything.

"What?" I ask, but I can barely hear myself now. Yeah! by Usher is blasting in my ear.

Yeah! by Usher is my girlfriend, Stephanie's, ringtone. It's my phone ringing, right by my ear. I wake up, rub my eyes, and realize that I'd been dreaming.

Holy.

Fuck.

I take in a deep breath and the song stops playing, giving me a second to stare at the ceiling and think about what just happened.

Yet another sex dream about April. That makes… I count on my fingers. Three this week alone. Four, if you count the one I dreamed during a nap where I saw her naked through her window across the street.

I have a problem. I have a huge problem, no pun intended, for the tent being made of my pants right now.

I take care of it before I call Steph back, pinching my eyes shut tight and letting my mind wander to thoughts of April. In the shower. Naked. Asking me to do very bad things to her.

I know I have to end it with Steph. Not only because I'm having regular wet dreams about my best friend, but because I'm leaving for college soon and she's going to be a senior this year. We're not serious enough to make a long distance relationship work, and simply put, I'm not willing to try. It sounds shitty, but it's true.

I call her back and we meet up. She's known for a while that something is up with me, and when we talked I just told her it was weird jitters about going to school. That's not exactly a lie, but it's not the whole truth, either. I'm not even ready to admit the whole truth to myself, though. So there was no way I was going to admit it to her.

Though the breakup was my idea, I still don't feel great after it's over. And even though I just had that awkward dream about her, there's no one I'd rather talk it over with than April.

I drive to the movie theater and look at the posters outside. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, The Stepford Wives, The Terminal, The Notebook, Fahrenheit 911, and White Chicks are playing. I've been kind of wanting to see White Chicks, so if April can't talk, I'll just go see that until her shift is over.

I breeze through the doors to find the place completely deserted. At first, I don't even see anyone behind the counter, until my eyes land on April in her red vest messing with the popcorn machine.

Before calling out, I let my eyes graze down her body. I can't see much in the shape of her back thanks to the vest, but those black dress pants hug her ass just right, and…

No.

"Hey, April," I say, making my way through the maze of rope that keeps the line in check on busy Friday nights. She doesn't hear me, so I call her again. "Hey, Angel."

She flips around, curled red hair flying. "Oh," she says, and sets the popcorn scooper down back in its holster. "Hey. What are you doing here?"

I lean on the counter. "Can I not come to visit my best girl?"

She scoffs. "Your best girl. Yeah, sure. What do you want? Popcorn? I can hook you up, we made way too much today."

"No, thanks," I say, sighing. "I actually came because I'm in a bit of an emotional turmoil. And I wanna talk to you."

She frowns. "What happened?"

I move my lips to one side. "Broke up with Steph."

"Aw…" she says, walking closer. "That sucks. I'm sorry. Did she…? Or did you?"

"I did," I say.

"Aw," she says again. "You okay? Why? What happened?"

 _Well, because I've been having extremely vivid sex dreams about you, which means I'm not only fantasizing about you during the day, but while I'm asleep, too._

"Not really a spark anymore," I say. "And you know, school."

"Yeah," she says, and something flashes across her eyes. It's gone before I can catch it, though. "School."

We spend a minute just looking at each other, then she speaks up again.

"I'm off in like, five minutes," she says. "I was gonna go see The Notebook. Do you wanna come? I already bought my ticket. You don't have to come, I know it's kinda lame. But everyone says it's so good, so I thought I might as well." She gives me a look. "You might not wanna go see a romantic movie, though, since all that happened. Up to you. I can spot you, if you wanna come."

"You'll sneak me in?" I ask.

She laughs. "Sure, call it that."

"Yeah, yeah," I say. "I'll see it. Cheesy ass."

She laughs and I wait in the arcade area until she clocks out and changes, and when she comes to get me she's dressed in a blue knee-length sundress with spaghetti straps, and it looks great on her. I love seeing her shoulders.

"Ready?" she asks.

"Yep," I say, getting up from a very squishy chair.

"You sure you don't mind seeing this?" she asks, looking up at me as we walk back towards the theater. "I know you wanted to see… White Chicks, or whatever. And I know romantic movies aren't-"

"Dude, shush," I say, smiling. "It's cool. It's better than slouching at home."

She points at me with a sly grin. "True," she says. "You do love to slouch."

I get through the movie and the rest of the summer alive, but not without fantasizing about April every chance I get. It doesn't help that on the day before we leave for school, we end up having sex for real. It confuses every single feeling I've ever had in my life, but mostly the ones I've been feeling for the past few months.

I barely sleep at all that night, worried about what's to come in the following year and worried about what - or, who - I'm leaving behind. We say we love each other all the time, but last night it felt like it meant way more.

As our parents are loading up our separate cars the next morning, I see April appear in her driveway wearing black sweatpants and a burgundy hoodie from our old high school - Kalamazoo Central. She's rubbing her eyes and I can tell, even from all the way across the street, that she's been crying. It's all in her posture.

We lock eyes and she makes her way across the street to my house in flip-flops. We make eye contact and I know that we need a minute alone, so I make up some random excuse to my mom, who's very concentrated on stuffing the trunk full of my stuff.

"Uh, I think April left something of hers up in my room," I say. "We're gonna go check."

She doesn't respond with words, just flashes a thumbs-up. I walk with April inside my house and shut the front door, then lead her to the kitchen at the back of the house, where my mom can't see us through the window.

"Are you okay?" I whisper.

She nods, looking up at me with tears welling up in her pretty eyes, then sighs. "No," she admits, and looks down at the floor.

I lift her chin with my pointer finger and when she looks back up at me, she's openly crying with tears running down her cheeks. I wipe them away with my free thumb and kiss her softly, closing my eyes and centering on the way her lips feel against mine. She gasps and is tense at first, but slowly relaxes and wraps her arms around my waist to pull herself closer.

When we break away, she's still crying. "Everything's going to change now," she says, her voice weepy.

"But one thing won't," I say, tucking a bit of her hair behind her ear.

She furrows her eyebrows a bit. "What?" she asks.

I smile softly and kiss her again, lingering because I don't know when I'll get to do it again. "I love you," I say. "That won't change."

She takes in a short inhale and holds tight to my biceps. She bites her lower lip, maybe to keep herself from crying harder, and blinks deftly. "And I love you," she whispers.

PRESENT

We went to college in the early 2000s. There wasn't an easy way to keep in contact like texting or social media. We called each other now and then, but we were both involved with school and extracurriculars. It was hard to find time for someone all the way across the country, even someone you loved with everything you had.

My mom moved back home to Boston, and money from my meager college jobs didn't let me travel back to Kalamazoo anymore. Then Mom got sick, and we definitely didn't have the money for it anymore. I couldn't go see my best friend, my angel, without losing funds that were to go specifically to my mom's treatment.

I could've kept up communication better. I know I should have. But the longer we spent not talking, the harder it was to start. I felt like we'd lost whatever we had, and school wasn't going great. I didn't do as well as I'd hoped because my focus was bad - I cared more about my mom's failing health than stupid grades. But when I got those bad grades back, I felt ashamed. I didn't want April to know how badly I'd done for myself. I couldn't get a job with a record like this, so I dropped out. I went back home and took care of my mom until her last day.

After she died, I joined the army and was shipped out to the Middle East. I'd come home for a few months at a time, but the place where I found the most tranquility was over there, with what I knew. Life was predictable there, in a strange sort of way. I knew how to handle what was thrown at me. Life back in the States wasn't so much like that anymore.

I had people who I could count on. My fellow troops always had my back; we became as close as brothers. But one day, all that ended when a car bomb exploded nearby and sent me flying - it shattered my knee and almost completely depleted the hearing in my right ear.

I was honorably discharged, and ripped away from everything I'd gotten used to over the last near-decade. On the flight home, after numerous operations to get me back to somewhat working order, I was scared as hell. I was handicapped, with no family and nowhere to call home.

So I went to the only place I knew. Back to Kalamazoo, Michigan. Home to April, for the first time in fifteen years.


	3. Chapter 3

APRIL

I lean forward onto my right knee to deepen the stretch in my inner thighs, and let out a long breath as I settle into Warrior 2 pose.

"I just don't really want to see him again," I say, loud enough so that Owen can hear me on speakerphone.

"What, that guy from the bar?" he asks. "Why not? What was wrong with him?"

I sigh and inhale deeply, then let it out. It's early Saturday evening and I was supposed to go on a date tonight, but I'm tempted to blow the guy off. Our first date wasn't all that magical, and now I just want to stay home, do yoga, and write in my journal. Hopefully, there's also a glass of wine included in there somewhere. That sounds like a much better Saturday than going out with a dentist from Three Rivers and pretending to think his jokes are funny all night.

"Nothing," I say, defeated as I lower down into a runner's lunge. I let my head fall forward and my neck go slack as I feel the stretch in my legs, and groan quietly. "I just… he was nothing. I don't wanna exert any more energy on him."

"Wow, harsh," Owen says, laughing. "Well, if you're gonna stand him up, you better do it fast. Any later and you'll look like a dick."

"Well," I say, chuckling as I switch legs. "I feel like one. But I just… I never think about me. I never put myself first."

"You're right, you don't," he says. "You deserve to do whatever you want. Go with what you feel, Kep."

"Thanks," I say.

"I'm having a few people over tonight for drinks, if you're interested," he says. "Before, you were busy with the date, but now, since you're free…? If you want to come hang out, you're welcome to."

"Thanks," I say again. "But I think I'll stay in tonight. There's a glass of white wine literally calling my name from the fridge."

He laughs. "Okay, I understand," he says. "I'll see you in the pit on Monday."

I reach over and press the little red button to hang up the phone, then push myself further into my practice. I lie flat on my back to work on core strength, and only call it a night once I'm sweaty and gross and definitely not in any shape to go out tonight.

But as I'm rolling up my mat, my doorbell rings. I crinkle my forehead with confusion, looking at the big clock on the wall and wondering if that could be the dentist.

"No way…" I say to myself, wiping my damp forehead. "Are you kidding me?"

I put my mat in the same corner as always and walk slowly towards the door, careful to avoid the windows just in case it is him. I don't plan on answering the door in the case, and I'll be severely creeped out.

I look through the peephole and audibly gasp. The man standing there isn't the dentist from a week ago, it's someone I was sure I'd never see again.

Right there on my doorstep, dressed in army fatigues, is Jackson Avery. He looks nervous and barely recognizable with the amount of muscle and facial hair he has, but I open the door anyway and stand there staring at him.

For a moment, that's how we stay. Eyes locked, lips parted, my hand braced on the doorknob. I don't know what to say. So many thoughts are running through my mind that it seems to be blank. What do you say to someone who used to be your best friend after fifteen years of silence? There's too much. I don't know where to start.

"Is it really you?" I whisper, after a few long moments pass.

A small, sad smile appears on his face. He doesn't have to answer; I'd know that smile anywhere. Jackson Avery is standing on my doorstep, smiling at me.

"It's really me," he says, and I can't believe how low his voice got.

I let out a big sigh of relief and smile as my eyes well up with happy tears. I take a few quick steps forward and throw my arms around his neck, tucking my face into his familiar yet unfamiliar smell, and he hugs me back just as tightly.

"It's you," I say again, openly weeping. His grip on my lower back doesn't let up. I pull away to look into his face, but find myself with nothing more to say. So I hug him again, tighter if possible.

I rest with my eyebrows knitted together and my arms folded over one another around his shoulders, and I wipe my tears when I break away. I take notice of his getup for the first time and the fact that he has a huge duffel bag at his side.

"I'm sorry, come in," I say, turning my body to free up the door. "Come in, please. I didn't mean to make you stand out here on the porch! God, you just…" I shake my head and take in a cleansing breath as he steps inside. "I just never expected… ever! In a million years."

I look behind me and see him gently shutting the front door.

"So, this is my place," I say, my arms out wide. "Do you want a tour? You probably want to set your stuff down. You can take your shoes off right here, if you want. Right on the mat, next to mine. And, um… I can give you a tour. I know it seems big, you know, for just me. But… it's home."

I realize that my heart is beating uncontrollably fast, but there's nothing I can do to stop it. I also realize that I'm talking way too fast, but he should be used to that.

I smack my palm to my forehead as he slowly unlaces his boots. "Oh, shit," I mutter. "I have to cancel on Steven. Now I _really_ have to cancel, oh god. Um…" I bite my top lip and sigh. I don't know where my phone is right now, and I'm not sure how much time I have before we were supposed to meet.

But I try to focus on one thing at a time. Jackson is here, and I need to be a polite hostess and give him a tour now that he's shoeless.

"So, um, the house!" I say, trying to sound as calm as I can. I don't think it's working. "This is the foyer, you know, the little entryway. Those stairs lead upstairs… well, obviously." I laugh nervously and pull aside a foldable door. "This is the living room. I never really go in here, it's really more for decoration." I start to walk further into the house, and he follows. "Here's the family room, I use it the most. Dining room, kitchen, all connected." I walk through the breezeway into a room with a fancier table. "This is like, the other dining room. More for gatherings, I never use it while I'm alone. Here's the downstairs bathroom, the laundry room, the door to the garage." I point back behind him. "That leads down to the finished basement; there's an office down there, a pool table, storage room, a TV… all that kind of stuff." I pause for a second, and he just looks at me. "Wanna see upstairs?"

I don't really give him time to answer before leading him that way.

"This is the guest bedroom," I say. "Another bathroom. Probably would be a kid's bathroom, you know, if I had one. Extra room, don't have any purpose for it, really. And, um, my room." I push open my door that had been mostly closed to display my perfectly-made bed and tidy dressers with matching picture frames on them. "And the master bath," I say, pointing towards the bathroom connected.

He nods slowly, taking it all in. "Nice place," he says. "Big."

"I… well, yeah," I say. "I know. It's too big for me. Everyone says that. But it's really homey, and I've tried my best to make it feel-"

"No," he says, smiling. "I like it. That was a compliment, sorry."

"Oh, no," I say. "No need to apologize."

There's an awkward pause between us where I just study his face. He has facial hair - more than just the sparse goatee that he tried to sport our senior year. This is a real man's facial hair - thick, trimmed and well-kept.

I have to resist the urge to touch it. We always used to be comfortable with our hands on each other, all touchy-feely like that, but it's been fifteen years. I don't know what's okay anymore, but I'm guessing it's not that.

"So, are you hungry?" I ask. "Thirsty? I have water, orange juice, I was about to have some wine…" I look at him expectantly. "I haven't had dinner yet. Please tell me you're hungry."

It takes him a while to reply. I think he's wondering how he's supposed to answer. The vibe between us isn't exactly comfortable and relaxed like it used to be - I'm looking into the face of my best friend, but he's become a stranger.

I don't want to make him feel like he's imposing, though, so I keep talking. "Whether you're hungry or not, I'm making dinner," I say, and think quickly. "Spinach-ricotta gnocchi. And you should know, I've turned into a pretty good cook. I wouldn't pass it up, if I were you."

His eyes warm up, which makes my heart swell. "Okay," he says. "I could eat."

Instinctively, I reach out and touch his arm gently. "Good," I say, then pull my hand away. We share a charged moment of eye contact, then I flash him a closed-lipped smile.

As I'm about to walk back downstairs, I notice him standing with his hand on the back of his neck, which is something he always used to do when he was uncomfortable. "Um… would you mind if I took a shower?" he asks, sounding cautious.

"Oh, of course not!" I say, turning around from where I'd been on the top step. "Let me grab you some towels." I go in the linen closet and pull out two perfectly-folded, fluffy white towels, and set them on the bathroom sink. "The shower's easy to work. Take your time. And make yourself at home."

He gives me a small smile and a nod, and I touch his wrist again. It's so good to have him in front of me, where I can see him and touch him. I can still barely wrap my mind around it - Jackson is in my house. When I never thought I would see him again, he's actually here.

"I'm really glad you're here," I say softly, and tighten my grip a little. There's a small moment of silence, then I speak again. "I'll be downstairs making dinner. No rush."

I trot down the stairs and go into the kitchen after hearing the shower turn on, and let out a long breath as I get out the ingredients for dinner. I brace my hands on the counter in front of me and lean forward, letting my head drop.

This is a lot to process.

He's so quiet - I was always the chatterbox while we were growing up, but he wasn't never shy or soft-spoken. Maybe it's because we haven't seen each other, or maybe it's because he's in a new environment and feels awkward, and I just need to give him some time.

A dozen questions rise up in my head. How long is he here for? Does he live in Kalamazoo again?

Oh, shit. As I filter those questions through, I remember what happened to Catherine. And in the hubbub of seeing him, I didn't say a thing in regards to it. No apology, no nothing. I feel horrible, and tell myself to offer something as soon as he comes downstairs. I don't want him to think I forgot.

While the gnocchi are boiling, I find my phone in the living room and see that I have a text from Steven asking if we're still on for 8:30. I check the clock and see that it's close to 7:45, and I'm officially the worst person ever.

Heading back to the kitchen to watch the food as it cooks, I dial his number and sandwich the phone between my ear and shoulder.

"Hey, April," he says, upon answering. "I just texted you."

"Uh, yeah," I say. "I got it. I'm sorry, I didn't answer earlier. I've been a little caught up."

"Caught up?" he asks, sounding amused. "Sounds interesting. With what?"

"Oh…" I say, stirring the gnocchi in the boiling water. "This and that. Listen, Steven, I have to tell you. I can't make it tonight, and I'm really sorry. I really am. I'm not one to do this usually, but something big came up. And I can't… it can't wait."

"Oh," he says, and I can hear the disappointment in his voice. I feel terrible, but at least my excuse is true now. Jackson Avery just showed up at my door; I'm not about to go on a date that I didn't want to go on anyway. "I understand," he says. "Should we reschedule?"

"I'd love to," I say. "I'm just not sure when right now. Can I call you back tomorrow, maybe, and we can figure it out?"

I glance over my shoulder when I see movement, halfway startled because I'm so used to being here alone. I relax when I see it's only Jackson, but tense up again when I see him pulling his shirt on over his very chiseled chest. I practically lose my breath - the last time I saw him shirtless he did not look anything like that.

"That sounds good," Steven says, and I hear a chair being pulled out from the kitchen table. "Talk to you then."

"Yes, talk to you then," I say, then hang up the phone. I look back at Jackson and smile, asking, "How was your shower?"

"Nice," he says. "Good water pressure."

I chuckle a little bit. "Good. Dinner should be ready in a little bit."

"Who was that on the phone?" he asks.

"Oh, I…" For some reason I feel weird telling him. I don't know why, I know I shouldn't. But I can't help that I do. "Just this guy." I don't let him respond before I cut in again. "Jackson, I… I meant to tell you. I should've said it earlier. I'm really sorry, you know. About your mom."

He nods slowly, maintaining eye contact. "Thanks," he says. "It was a long time ago. It… it was really hard, but…"

"Are you okay?" I ask. "About it?"

"Yeah," he says. "She was really sick. When she went, it… I don't know. I don't want to call it a relief, but…"

"She wasn't in pain anymore," I say. "I get it." I turn back to open the bag of spinach and pour oil in a frying pan. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you. When I heard, it was too late." I dump the spinach into the pan and listen to it sizzle. "That's no excuse. I should've known, I should've found a way. I just wanted you to know now that I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," he says. "Our lives were so different. I didn't expect you to uproot and fly across the country for that. We hadn't talked in years."

"And you joined the army," I say, remembering his garb from earlier. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugs, looking down at the table. "I didn't think you'd care," he says. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again. I went out there to forget everything, and it worked. For a while."

"But you're back now, right?" I ask. "For good?"

He nods. "I got discharged," he says. "A c-..." He cuts himself off, a troubled expression passing over his features. "I busted my knee."

"Oh…" I say. "Are you okay? Well, obviously you're not okay. But… is it fixed? Do you need to see someone? I can get the best orthopedic surgeon for you, if it's-"

"It's fixed," he says. "Don't worry." He pauses for a second, like something's dawning on him. "But you're a surgeon now, aren't you?"

I nod, smiling a little.

"Good for you," he says. "You did it."

"Somehow," I say, widening my eyes for effect. "Don't know how."

"You always had it in you," he says. "I knew you'd do it. Do you like it?"

"I love it," I say.

"What kind of work do you do?" he asks.

"I'm in trauma," I say. "I work in the ER, mostly."

He smirks, shaking his head. "Adrenaline junkie."

"Yeah," I say, shrugging bashfully. "Kind of."

I finish dinner and make sure it looks pretty on my nice plates, and set it on the table for the two of us. I haven't had dinner at home with a man in I can't remember how long, at least not romantically. Sometimes, Owen will come over for pizza, but that's about it. Not that this is romantic, but something about the fancy pasta, the white wine, and the lighting is giving off that vibe. I didn't do it on purpose, though, and I hope he doesn't think I did.

We don't talk a lot while we eat, and I end up scarfing mine down while Jackson only picks at what's on his plate. I look up periodically to find him stabbing a piece of pasta only to put it back, and can't help but wonder what's going on. He used to be the fastest eater, and he loved food. I know it's not because this doesn't taste good, because it's amazing.

I can still read him, though. I might not know him as well as I used to, but I can still tell that he's nervous.

"You okay?" I ask, looking at him attentively. "You can talk to me about anything, you know." I offer a soft smile. "I'm still me."

He looks up with just his eyes and tries to smile back, but it doesn't work too well. "I just need to ask you something, and I don't really want to," he says.

"You can go ahead," I say. "I'm all ears."

He sighs and sets his fork down, not meeting my eyes as he figures out what he wants to say. "I need somewhere to stay," he admits. "And I don't have any family left. I don't know where else to go. And I wanted to ask if-"

"You'll stay here," I say, reaching over and overlapping his forearm with my hand. I nod surely. "Of course you'll stay here."

He lifts his eyes to meet mine. "Really?" he asks.

"Sure," I say. "I have the space." I grin. "And god, Jackson, it's me. I'm… I was your best friend. You need me, I'll be here for you. Always."

His eyes shine with something warm as he looks at me, pausing poignantly before speaking again. "Thank you," he says.

"You're welcome," I reply, then nod towards his plate. "And what, is my cooking not up to par with you? You're insulting me by being so picky."

He looks down at it, then back at me. "Oh, no," he says. "No, no, it's really good. I'm just… I'm not that hungry, that's all."

"Oh, that's okay," I say, and continue to eat mine. "More leftovers for later, then, I guess."

As I'm clearing our plates, my curiosity is too much for me to bear - I can't not ask. I tell myself that I deserve to know what's been going on with him for the past fifteen years. If he's going to stay with me, I have a right to know his story.

"Wanna finish the wine out on the porch?" I ask, nodding towards the screen door. "It's a nice night."

He looks up at me, seemingly snapped out of a trance he'd fallen into, and his eyes brighten. "Sure," he says, and grabs the stem of his glass that he's barely touched. I've drained mine, so I pour myself a new one.

"It's so nice out here in the spring and summer," I say, crossing one leg over the other as I get comfortable in my wicker chair. Jackson is sitting next to me, both arms on the armrests, staring out at my neighborhood. "And all the colors are so pretty in the fall, but it gets chilly then. So I was thinking about putting up a screen one of these days, but I never have the time. You know, so it could be a three-season porch instead of just a two." I look over at him, and it seems like he's checked out. "I know, boring," I say, laughing and writing myself off. "I'm sorry. I… I don't really wanna keep talking about all my boring stuff. I want to hear about you."

He turns his head and picks up his wine glass, taking a tiny sip. "I like hearing about you," he says. "It's been a long time. I want to know about your life." He looks at me pointedly, his gaze so heavy that I have to blink away. "Catch me up on everything."

I let a little puff of air from my nose. "Okay," I agree. "But on one condition. You have to take your turn after I'm done."

He smiles, conceding. "Sure," he says.

"Okay," I say, then hold up a palm. "Stop me if you get bored."

"Not gonna happen," he says. "But okay."

I laugh a little bit. "So, I'm a trauma surgeon, you know that much. I work at Borgess hospital, it's not far from here. Sometimes I work regular hours, but other times I'm on-call and my schedule gets crazy. Since I live alone, it's not that big of a deal, but… I don't know. I thought you'd like to know." I pause and take a sip of my wine. "My parents still live over by Milham Park, where we grew up." I can't help but smile at that fact. "It'd be cool if we went back there sometime, just to kind of relive the glory days."

I look over at him for a moment, and he seems lost in what I'm saying.

"I don't really know what else to say," I go on. "I…" I glance at him and sigh, then look away. "I missed you, you know. For the longest time. I wondered what you were doing, how your life was going. And I…" I look upwards so the tears that have gathered in my eyes won't fall. "And I had no idea. I really had no clue where you'd gone or… or if you were even alive, honestly. I heard about your mom, and this is so sick, but it was somewhat of a comfort because that means I would've heard about it had you died. And I was worrying about all this without even knowing you joined the army!" I lift my hand and it smacks back down onto my armrest. "I can't imagine what I would've thought had I known. I would've gone crazy worrying."

I meet his eyes and sniffle. I hadn't wanted to cry, but emotions that I've forced down for years are surfacing. It's impossible not to succumb to them.

"I wrote to you," I say. "In the beginning."

"I know," he says, piping up. "I wrote you back, I-"

"But we stopped," I say. "I know it was a two-way street. I know that. I just…" I plop my cheek in my open palm and shake my head. "I'm not blaming you. All I want you to know is that… I had to make myself forget about you." I can't look at him, but I feel his eyes on me. "So it wouldn't hurt so much."

"But we're back now," he says, and I hear the smile in his voice.

"We're back now," I repeat, and tuck my legs under me. "Promise you won't go running off or… or join the army again."

"I promise," he says. "And anyway, I can't. They wouldn't let me back."

I frown. "Why?" I ask. "Not at all?"

He pats his leg and shakes his head. "Like I said, the shattered knee."

"How'd it happen?"

He opens his mouth, but shuts it again. "It… stuff like that just happens out of nowhere over there," he says. "Right now, sitting here, I feel like it never happened. But while I'm over there, it feels like my life here never happened."

I nod as I try to understand. "Why did you do it?" I ask.

"What?" he says. "Enlist?"

I nod.

He shrugs. "I felt like I had no other option."

I narrow my eyes. "No other option? What do you mean?"

He sighs and stares down at the wooden floor. "I dropped out of UW, April. It wasn't easy for me, and it wasn't fun. My mom got sick, and things got bad. School didn't seem to matter anymore, yet somehow it still did. But I was failing, so I just gave up."

"Oh, Jackson…"

"No, no," he says, waving one hand. "I don't wanna hear that. That's why…" He makes a small, frustrated soudn. "I didn't wanna tell you before."

"Wait, what?"

"I didn't tell you because… I was ashamed," he says. "I didn't hold up my end of our communication because I wasn't who I thought I'd be. Who _you_ thought I'd be."

"I would never judge you," I say sternly.

"Well, _I_ was judging me," he says, refuting. "You were valedictorian, then you graduated top of your class in med school. At fuckin' Princeton, no less. How was I supposed to to tell you that I flunked out?"

"Like this," I say, swiveling my torso to look at him. "Hey, Angel. I'm going through a rough time right now, can we talk?"

He shakes his head. "It wasn't like that. We'd already gone so long without-"

"I know," I say. "And I thought it was because you hated me."

He widens his eyes. "Hated you? Honestly?"

I turn to sit with my back against the chair, facing forward.

"Why would I ever hate you?" he asks, pushing.

I shake my head and shrug my shoulders. "I don't know," I say. "I didn't say it was a rational thought. But I didn't know why else you'd just stop talking to me." I pull my legs up to my chest and finish my glass of wine. "So, like I said. I had to make myself forget about you."

"Have you slept with other guys?" he asks, randomly.

The question blows me out of the water. I look at him, mouth gaping, and grip my chair's armrest. "What kind of question is that?" I ask, somewhat snappily. "It's been fifteen years, Jackson. Don't hold yourself so high."

"Just making sure," he says. "I assumed so. I… it's not like that. I was hoping you _hadn't_ held out, not that you had."

I blink at him. "You have, too, right?"

He nods.

"Do you date?" I ask, testing the waters.

"I used to."

"Have any serious relationships?" I press.

"One or two," he says. "They didn't last more than a year, though." He pauses. "You?"

"One," I say. "We were engaged. I called it off."

He cocks his head curiously. "Why? That doesn't sound like you."

"I forced myself to love him," I say, staring at my leggings and picking at the fabric on my knees. "In my head, it was a step I needed to take. All my sisters were married, and I was next. But I couldn't go through with it."

"Well, good for you," he says.

I snort. "Yeah, good for me. Notoriously single."

He laughs, and I break into a little smile. When I look over at him, I see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that appear when he genuinely smiles, and for some reason that makes my heart crack. How many times has he smiled like that over the years? When we were young, he was happy and carefree. He was a kid, just like me. That's it. Just a kid. And that was the way I left him.

This version now seems bogged-down and heavy. Somewhere near depressed, though I'm not licensed to diagnose. My heart feels incredibly sad for him, and I have the unignorable urge to make it better. To fix him.

"Do you wanna watch our movie?" I ask, out of the blue.

"What, 'My Girl?'" he says, raising his eyebrows. "I haven't seen that in forever."

I stand up out of my chair. "I have the DVD," I say. "We can have a movie night, if you want."

He agrees, and I change into my pajamas before coming back downstairs and setting the DVD up. He's already in a soft t-shirt and lounge pants without having to change, so I put him in charge of making popcorn.

I'm not sure how far to sit from him on the couch. He's sitting all the way to the left, and if I sit on the middle cushion, it might look like I'm trying to get too close. Plus, I don't have an armrest. But I don't want to look like I'm intentionally trying to sit far away, either. With a frustrated sigh, I end up setting the popcorn down on the middle cushion and choosing the one all the way to the right.

The movie comes on, and my memories come rushing back. When we were in middle school, we used to watch this all the time, so just seeing it on my screen makes me feel like no time has passed at all.

I look over at Jackson now and again to watch him smile at the parts he always used to smile at and frown at others. I hope he doesn't realize I'm stealing glances at him, and I try to be as subtle as I can. I don't know if it's working, though. I can still barely believe he's in my living room, on my couch, watching our movie.

When we finish the popcorn, he moves a bit closer to the middle. He tries to be inconspicuous, but I notice everything from the shift of his hips to the way he sighs as he gets comfortable. So I follow his lead and move in closer, too, wondering if he notices. I can't tell either way.

A few minutes later, I glance to the side again to see if everything's okay, and find that he was already looking at me. We lock eyes and I gasp slightly, but wait a moment before looking away. He smiles, charming as ever, and looks back towards the TV.

My heart is pounding. I'm not sure what's come over me, but all I can think about is the way we said goodbye. He told me he loved me, and I said I loved him back. It'd been the truth then, but how long does it take for those feelings to fade away? And more importantly, how long does it take for them to come rocketing back?

"You know," I say, breaking the silence as the blonde boy on the screen bikes beside the girl. "You always reminded me a little of Thomas J."

He raises his eyebrows. "For real?" He shakes his head. "Low blow. So you're saying I'm like, the biggest nerd ever."

I giggle and nod, keeping steady eye contact.

"Well, I guess that means you must be Vada, then," he says, stealing a glance. "Only prettier."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, please," I say. "At that age, you and I both know that wasn't true. She's way cuter than I was."

"Nobody said I was talking about back then," he says.

I face him, wetting my lips and subconsciously looking down at his mouth, flinching when he takes my wrist with one hand and looks into my eyes.

"I missed you," he says. "So much."

"I missed you, too," I say quietly, feeling the electricity we've created.

"And I'm sorry," he says. "For the silence.

"I am, too," I breathe, unable to keep my eyes from his lips.

I still can't stop replaying how we said goodbye. I answered his question earlier and told him I've slept with other guys, and that wasn't a lie. But what I chose to leave out was that no one - not a single one of the handful of them - made me feel like he did when we were seventeen.

"I really want to kiss you," he says, his face inching closer to mine.

I don't say anything in response. Instead, I get physical. I hold the sides of his neck gently between my palms and move my face closer - painfully slowly. So slow that I can feel our breath mixing as we pull in, and for a moment the surfaces of our lips just ghost over each other before he kisses me.

When he does, my eyelids flutter shut and I let myself get lost in him. He moves his mouth fluidly over mine, slipping his tongue between my lips and through the cage of my teeth, as I melt against his touch. His arms wrap around my waist to pull me closer, and the mostly-empty bowl of popcorn gets knocked to the floor, where I let it stay. It's the last thing on my mind right now.

I moan into his mouth as he squeezes me closer, and one hand slips up my pajama top to rest in the middle of my back. He moves his lips down to my neck, where he opens his mouth and drags his teeth across my throat, which makes me moan.

It's been awhile since I've had sex. More than a year, for sure. So the fire that's lit inside my belly right now is very, very welcome.

He situates me so I'm resting in the corner of the couch - between the back and the armrest - and positions himself to rest between my open legs. His body his heavier and more solid than I remember, and I take my time in memorizing it again. I run my hands down his back as low as they'll reach, and then tighten my fingers over his ass to give it a forceful squeeze.

"Mm," he moans, hips twitching against me.

I sit up a little bit and pull my shirt off, which leaves me in a cream-colored t-shirt bra. Nothing special or sexy - I couldn't have guessed that we'd be intimate tonight - but he doesn't seem to notice. He drops hot, wet kisses down my neck and to my collarbones, then ghosts his parted lips over the cups of my bra, looking up at me the whole time with a smirk on his face.

I arch my back and he smiles bigger, opening his mouth and licking a path between my breasts up to my neck. I moan with my mouth closed as he sucks on the skin there, then desperately pull his face back up to mine so I can kiss him.

It's not neat or precise - the kisses are messy, sloppy and hot. We need each other - we've been apart for too long, and there's no controlling our actions. I'm so turned on that I can barely see straight - the fact that this is Jackson, the boy who I knew so well yet am now so unfamiliar with - on top of me, making me feel these things… that makes it even better.

He kisses the swells of my breasts and sucks on the supple skin there as I run my fingertips down the back of his neck. A smile finds my lips when I remember the first time he ever did that - when he introduced me to how amazing my body could feel.

I reach my arms behind my back and unsnap the clasp, then throw my bra off to the side. We make quick eye contact, then I pull his head back down to where I want it.

He squeezes my right breast roughly in his hand, which makes my thighs pull together as he covers the left one with his warm mouth. He swirls his tongue around the nipple as I relax beneath him, then draws it between his lips to suck on it.

"I thought about you," he breathes, still going at my breast. "I thought about you every day."

His words knock me back. I wouldn't have guessed that while I had to force myself to forget about him to survive, he was hanging onto every last thread of me that he could. I wonder if it was wrong of me to try and erase him, even if it was a coping mechanism.

"You did?" I ask, feeling his hand sneak between my legs as his mouth stays on my chest.

He nods, pressing sporadic kisses everywhere he can reach - my nipples, the round swell of the undersides, everywhere.

"Yeah," he answers, and moves his lips down my stomach, below my bellybutton.

"What'd you think about?" I say. "About me."

He pulls my soft pajama pants down my legs, leaving me in my blue seamless underwear. He looks up briefly before pressing a few deliberate kisses over the fabric on the very center of me.

"I thought about… how when you look at me, I feel like I exist," he says, not lifting his head. "You were the one person in my life who made me feel good enough."

He pulls my legs apart so one foot rests on the carpet and the other knee is bent to rest against the back of the couch. "Of course," I say, jolting as he kisses lower, tighter between my legs. "You're always…" I can barely speak, he's making me feel so much. "You were always good enough."

"I thought about how you could always make me laugh, and no one else could," he says, opening his mouth on my inner thigh and running his tongue up the skin until he reaches my panties again. "You made me so happy."

"You made me happy, too," I say, hands resting on his shoulders, willing him to continue.

"I thought about…" he says, fingers locking around the waistband of my underwear as he slowly pulls them down. "I thought about our first time. A lot. Especially in the beginning."

He blows a thin stream of cool air between my legs, and I can't help how I twitch underneath the smallest touch. My eyes roll back in my head and my insides clench - I need him to touch me.

"So did I," I say, inhaling deeply as I feel his mouth on my outer lips, pressing slow kisses here and there.

"And I thought about-"

"Jackson," I say, pulling my lower lip into my mouth to chew on it. "I'm really wet. And I really…" I let out a rattling sigh. "Any other time, I'd really want to hear about this, but right now…" I tilt my eyebrows up towards each other. "I'm just really wet."

"Understood," he says, and runs a hand up my thigh as he sticks two fingers of the other in his mouth before slipping them inside me. "God, I've never heard you talk like that. It's fuckin' hot."

I close my eyes as his tongue melts inside of me, and can't help but lift my hips up to meet his working mouth. His fingers pump slowly and deliberately - he definitely knows what he's doing now more than before. When he opens his mouth wide and sucks in a rhythmic pattern, I swear I start to see stars behind my eyelids. I pull my lip into my mouth again and whimper, breathing heavily through my nose as what I want so badly gets closer and closer.

When I come, it happens slowly. The feeling washes through my body like a steady wave, starting at the tips of my toes and ending between my legs under Jackson's tongue, where it makes my hips rise up and collide with his face. He smiles against me, making quick eye contact, and keeps going until I'm panting with my back flat on the couch - having slipped down from my prior position.

"Good god…" I breathe, one hand to my forehead.

He crawls up my body and kisses me - long, slow, and passionate, with one hand on my breast and the other framing the side of my face.

I smile when he pulls away, and he wipes a bit of spit from my lower lip, dragging it to one side. "You taste like vagina," I say, giggling.

He smirks. "Good," he says, and kisses me again, just as deeply. "How would you know what that tastes like anyway?" he teases.

"Just a guess," I say, hands resting on his collarbones. "Kiss me again, and I'll find out."

I close my eyes as he kisses me, his mouth moving against mine so heatedly that I swear I could come again without needing him to do much more. When he pulls away, he presses slow kisses everywhere else on my face - from the apple of my cheek, to my nose, my temple, the space between my eyebrows.

"You're beautiful," he whispers.

I slowly open my eyes to look directly into his. "I missed you," I whisper back, and run the backs of my knuckles down the sides of his face. "I missed you so much."

He plants his hands on either side of my head and kisses down my body again, paying attention to spots he may have missed before. He lingers under my armpit, the side of my breast, and along the risen part of my ribcage when I exhale. I rest my arms above my head, watching him as he comes back up, smiling when he kisses my chin and nudges it so he can get at my neck again.

While he's kissing me, I gently push on his shoulders until his back is flat against the couch and I can wriggle out from underneath him. He gives me a confused look, but I give him a 'trust me' one in return, so he goes along. Completely naked, I kneel down on the floor in front of him and wrap my fingers around the waist of his lounge pants, and he stares at me with hooded eyes.

As I gently pull the pants down his legs and expose his tight, black boxer-briefs, I smile and repeat something he said to me a long time ago. "Your pupils are huge," I say, running my hands up his now-bare legs, hairier than I remember. "Lift up."

He raises his hips and I pull his underwear off, which exposes him to me. He strips off his shirt while I'm at it, and I gently tug at the back of his knees to pull him close, closer to the edge of the cushion.

"Give and you shall receive," I say, positioning myself up on my knees as I wrap my fingers around him.

His back tenses and I can see his biceps flex as he grips the cushion on either side of him. A low moan escapes when I cover the head with my mouth, watching his face the entire time as I fit more and more of him in. I'm not a pro at this; I've gone down on one other guy I've been with, and it was only because he asked. But with Jackson, I want to. I want to make him feel good, even if I'm not the best at it.

He rests his head back and presses his lips together, breathing heavily from his nose as I run my tongue along the underside. I can't fit all of it in my mouth, so I work the rest with my hand, which he seems to like. I know when I feel one of his hands root in my hair that I'm doing something right, so I keep going until his breath comes irregularly and his face screws up, mouth falling open.

"I'm close," he grunts, so I keep pumping with my mouth on the head until he jerks one final time, then I pull away. I don't get far before he comes on my face - most of it landing on my cheeks and chin - and I sit there frozen for a second, eyes pinched shut, trying not to laugh.

Once he catches his breath, he looks down at me and giggles, too.

"Oh, shit," he says, and I hear the sound of tissues being pulled from a box on the coffee table. I open my eyes once he starts cleaning it, then climb onto his lap and he kisses the rest of it off of me. "Sorry about that," he says, tucking my hair behind my ears.

"I don't care," I say, tucking my face into his neck and opening my mouth on his pulse point. "It's you."

He skims his hands down my back until they land over my ass, and he grips the supple flesh firmly. "Mm…" he moans, tipping his head to one side as I lick and bite him. "God. Oh, my god."

I lift my head up and smirk, holding his face between my palms as I kiss him with everything I have. With my mouth open on his, he slips one hand between my legs and places it over my center, rubbing me slowly. I match his rhythm with my hips and whimper, the sound getting lost in his throat, and let out a shaky exhale when I feel him start to get hard again.

"That was fast," I say, peppering kisses down his jawline. I feel his erection against my thigh and start to grind against it, which makes his grip on my ass tighten. I laugh, low and breathy, and rest my forehead against his. "You like that?" I mutter.

"I need you closer," he says.

"I'm right here," I say, resting my arms on his shoulders. "Tell me where you wanna be."

I rise up higher on my knees and he buries his face in my chest, between my breasts. "Deep inside you," he says, yanking me forward so our torsos are flush together.

"So get there," I say, taunting him with my eyelashes. "I want you, too."

Following my words, he maneuvers my hips to sink slowly down on top of him, and I feel every inch. I let my head fall to rest on his shoulder and he hugs the small of my back in tighter; there's no way that we could be any closer right now. Every part of my body is touching every part of his.

"Oh, god," I moan, undulating my hips forward. "Oh… sweet mother of god. Jackson…"

"Last I checked, her name was Mary," he says, and I can feel him laughing.

A smile ghosts its way onto my lips. "Shut up," I breathe, and press deliberate kisses to the side of his neck, up to the corner of his jaw, to his ear. I take his earlobe in my mouth and bite down, then suck on it, which makes him moan.

"Fuck," he breathes, thrusting upwards. "Fuck, you feel so good. My go-..." His word breaks with a moan as I push my hips forward and sink down even lower, my teeth on the slope between his shoulder and neck.

"That good?" I whisper, arms wrapped tight around his neck now as I look right into his face.

"That fuckin' good," he breathes, arms unwinding from my back to move to my chest, where he takes my breasts tight in his hands and squeezes.

He desperately kisses my neck and collarbones as we start to move faster, sucking the skin into his mouth as the muscles in my lower belly tighten with the onset of my orgasm.

"Touch me," I say, taking his wrist and moving his hand between my legs. "I'm almost there. I… please."

He looks at me slyly through his eyelashes and crushes his lips to mine as he rubs his thumb in tight circles on the nerves that'll get me there. When it happens, I let out a surprised-sounding whimper - my mouth open against his, and go limp against his chest while he works his way to his orgasm.

My body writhes and twitches atop his while I ride it out, and he holds tight around my back while having his. When it's over, my face is buried in his sweaty neck and I can't resist kissing it. Sweeter and gentler than before.

We lie there wrapped up in each other for a long time after it's over, his fingers ghosting up and down my back and my lips finding their way to the divots and curves of his shoulders. When I catch my breath, I rest my cheek against him and can feel his heartbeat hammering inside his chest, going a mile a minute.

"You okay?" he asks. I was just about to ask him the same thing, but he got there first.

"I'm great," I say, not missing the fact that he's still very deep inside me. Soft now, but still there.

"Are you glad… uh, are you glad we did that?" he asks.

The heat of the moment has passed and I can feel my rationale approaching. His has apparently already arrived. _Should_ we have done that? I'm not sure. It probably wasn't the best idea, but I can't bring myself to regret it.

"I am," I say, running one finger down the length of his muscular arm. "Are you?"

"Yeah," he says.

I take that as the cue to lift off of him, then rest on my knees for a moment at his side - still completely naked. "Are you tired?" I ask.

"Yeah," he answers.

"You should get some sleep," I say, reaching down to grab my pajamas from the floor. I slip my pants and t-shirt on - no underwear, no bra - and stand up to get his clothes.

I lock up the house and he follows me upstairs, and we get ready for bed in different bathrooms. I can't help wondering if he'll want to sleep with me - there hasn't been a man in my bed for a good while now. And Jackson, while we've slept together before in a sense, we've never actually done any sleeping. I find myself thinking that it might be nice to have him beside me all night, a warm body that I can cuddle up to and maybe, possibly, kiss in the morning.

So when I'm finished brushing my teeth and cleaning myself up, face washed and changed into new pajamas, I linger just inside my bedroom door until I see the light go out from the bathroom he's using. He walks out of it, scratching his chest, and briefly glances my way.

I want to invite him in, but suddenly I can't work up the nerve. We just had hot, sweaty, dirty sex, but now I'm not brave enough to ask him into my bed.

"Night," he says, before I can beat myself up inside my own head any longer.

"Oh," I say, nonchalantly as ever. "Night."

I retire to bed alone and lie down, faced towards the window, then close my eyes and try to sleep. It's not as easy as it seems, though, given I swear I can still feel him inside me.

In the morning, I wake up and roll over onto my back, rubbing my eyes and yawning at the same time. As I stretch, I feel how sore my body is - the dull ache centered between my legs and at the hinges of my jaw, and it's not hard to figure out why. I sigh and glance at the clock to see that it's just a little past 8, which is considered sleeping in for me.

I let myself stay in bed until staying in any longer will make me late for my morning yoga class downtown. I hop in the shower, tie my hair up, and put on my yoga gear - a blue racerback tank top and capri leggings - before heading downstairs.

When I get down there, I find Jackson leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in hand. He has dark circles under his eyes and his skin looks a little pallid, so I can't help but frown a little bit with concern.

"Morning," I say, a little gentler than normal. I don't want to startle him; he seems lost in his own world.

"Morning," he says back. "Made you coffee, if you want some."

I notice a mug set out with just the right amount of cream in it, or so it seems. I never drank coffee while we were close, so I'm not sure how he knows. I appreciate it either way.

"Maybe after," I say, gesturing towards the yoga mat under my arm. "Coffee before yoga makes my stomach all weird."

He chuckles humorlessly. "I can understand that," he says.

I slip into my shoes and look back at him over my shoulder. "You okay?" I ask. "You seem…" I make a vague gesture with my hands that I'm not sure he understands. I'm not even sure I understand it.

"Um…" he says, crinkles appearing on his forehead as he's deep in thought. "I… um, no. I don't think so."

I study him, wondering what's wrong. "What is it?" I ask. I honestly have no idea what to expect.

"Last night," he says, sounding regretful. My stomach sinks, and I instantly feel mortified. "I…" He cuts himself off as he tries to piece his words together. "I don't think we should be doing that."

My cheeks are the hottest they've ever been. I can't even look up from the floor to see his face. I want to melt into a puddle of embarrassment. "Yeah, um, you're right," I say, my voice clipped as my mouth grows dry.

"It wasn't that I didn't like it," he says, then his voice changes a bit. "Because I did. I really, _really_ did. Like, a lot. And I'm sorry, because I know I initiated it… but just… while I'm living here… I think it'll just mess things up."

I clear my throat and tell myself to buck up, because he's right. We just reunited after fifteen years - he's essentially a stranger.

A stranger who was once my whole life, but a stranger all the same.

"No, you're absolutely right," I say, tucking my hair compulsively. I still can't look at him. "It was heat of the moment, it was wrong. It… we weren't thinking clearly. It was a mistake."

"Well, I wouldn't call it a-"

"It was, it's fine," I say, finally looking up and raising my eyebrows. "We won't do it again."

He blinks, maybe trying to read my expression. He studies my face for a beat too long. "I don't want things to be weird now," he says. "Or anything."

"They won't be," I say, hitching my yoga mat higher. "I have to go, or I'll be late for class. I'll be home later, though, okay?" And with that, I give him a short wave over my shoulder, and head out the door. Fake smile plastered on my face, heart cracking, feeling confused as ever.


	4. Chapter 4

JACKSON

After I say goodnight to April, I shut the guest bedroom door and stand with my back against it, chest heaving. I center my gaze in the middle of the windows on the far wall, staring at a steady point until the room stops spinning.

I let my hand crawl to the knob where I make sure the door is locked, jiggling it a few times to be positive. I swallow loudly and walk to the bed, sitting down on the side closest to the nightstand where I let my elbows fall to my knees and my face fall to rest in my open palms.

My body is trembling with emotion. It feels like my entire life has happened in one day and I've watched it zip before my eyes, but at the same time it feels like time has stopped. Time has stopped and I'm stuck in the middle of everything, experiencing every emotion at full capacity.

I grit my teeth, clenching my jaw as I stare down at the fluffy white carpet. I didn't mean for that to happen, for April and I to sleep together. Once it started, of course I wanted it, but I hadn't sought her out with the intent of sleeping with her. I sought April out because she's my best friend, she's safe, and she's the last piece of home I have left.

I came home to her because I love her. She's always been a part of who I am.

But what we just did sent my mind into a whirlwind. I rock back and forth with my head in my hands, letting loud exhales through my teeth. I close my eyes, then open them wide as I try to center myself. It's not working, though. I haven't felt intense physical sensations for a long time now, and they're not bringing me to a good place. I have no control of the feelings coursing through me, or the uncontrollable waves of pleasure that came over me just moments ago.

I loved the way it felt, but it shook me off balance. For the past handful of years, it was dire to be in complete control of my body. It was my vessel, it was how I survived and kept other people alive in the middle of war. So the fact that another person, my best friend, no less, made me feel things that I couldn't anticipate, is rattling me.

She wanted me to sleep in her bed tonight. I know she did, but I couldn't do it. I can't. I need to be in here alone, with the door locked. At night is when it gets bad. When I get bad.

I tighten my hands into fists and try to force the memories away, but they're relentless. Much like the way I couldn't control the way she made my body feel, I can't control the intrusive thoughts hacking their way into my brain right now. I pinch my eyes shut tight and screw up my forehead, shaking my head violently in hopes to will them away, but they won't go. They only storm faster.

Suddenly, instead of sitting on a soft bed in a dark room, I'm wearing my heavy uniform in the middle of a sandstorm. There's so much sound encasing me that I can't begin to think straight - the loudest of all being gunshots coming from every direction.

My commander is shouting for us to get up and get going, and I grapple for my rifle and rise to my feet, following my fellow troops out of our base. We all run at the same speed in a pack, but I can't tell where the shots are coming from. All I know is that I need to duck, get behind something that can protect me from getting hit, and look for the target.

I'm on the constant defense all the time. There are days at a time where we get no rest and there's constant gunshots, explosions and bloodshed. Sometimes, the bloodshed of innocent civilians. More often that sometimes, really. And when you see it happen, you never forget it.

The day my life changed forever had been like any other. I was walking through the village with the best friend I'd made while enlisted, Ben Warren. We'd been on the same tour of duty for years, always getting called back to the same locations at the same time. We'd always joke that one of us was rigging the system, but I was just glad that I had someone to stick by. And that there was someone to stick by me.

I can still feel the crunch of the gravelly dirt under my boots, still feel the dry heat of the sun baking onto my face as we walked through town. A small girl caught my attention, walking along the side of the street with a baby boy in her arms that I assumed was her brother. We met eyes - hers were dark, round, and curious - and she gave me a shy smile. I waved back, trying to seem as unthreatening as possible. I didn't want to scare her.

Ben was a few steps ahead of me, and when the car bomb went off, the first thing I saw was his body fly through the air. Time slowed down, like I was watching it happen to totally different people. It felt more like a movie than real life. Fire rose up high into the air, engulfing the car in flames, and I was blown back from the blast and tossed to the ground, landing right on my knee so it shattered.

The pain didn't register. Nothing did, at first. I blinked open my eyes and saw fields of dust, but heard nothing. The only sound in my head was a high-pitched ringing and the thud of footsteps on the ground below me. I tried to see through the dust, and though I couldn't see much, I saw three things.

Three lifeless bodies, lying in unnatural positions with their faces pressed to the dry earth. Ben, the little girl, and her infant brother. I could only make out one half of her - the other half was bloody and battered - and her eyes were still open. Round and lifeless. The baby was crushed beneath her, gone completely still.

Ben had his arms folded under his body in a way that told me they'd been broken. His mouth was open and he was completely still, slack as our fellow troops picked him up and got him on a gurney. Even if I could've mustered my voice, I wouldn't have had to tell them it was too late. They already knew.

When they picked him up, his body was coated in blood. The explosion had torn him open, but I couldn't rip my eyes away. The one person who I had here was gone, dead, being transported to the medical tent for procedures that would do no good.

No one touched the girl and her brother. No one went near them, no one noticed. No one picked them up and put them on a gurney to bring them to a medical tent. They laid still as the dust settled around them, drifting to rest on their ragged and torn clothes, falling into their open mouths and eyes.

Before I passed out, I wondered how their parents would find out. If they had any parents at all. I wondered if there was anyone who would notice that they were gone.

I grit my teeth in real time and try to pull myself away from my life back then. It wasn't long ago - no more than a month that I was injured and discharged, but sometimes it feels worlds away. Other times, though, it feels like it's happening right now, in the moment, and I have to figure out ways to get away from it, to get out. To save those kids. To save Ben.

I never dream about anything else, so I find myself not sleeping. Because no matter how hard I try, nothing ever works. They always die, just out of my reach.

And somehow, I stayed alive. For some reason, I was allowed to live with only a shattered knee and lessened hearing in my right ear. Three people had to die, and I walked away with minor injuries that forced me out of the one thing in life I was good at.

I stand up from the bed and pace the room, trying to think of things that'll transport me out of this hell. I don't want to relive it, but it's never a choice. I would do anything to forget about it, to get the image of Ben's lifeless face out of my brain, but I can't. The best I can do is think of something better, something that'll force these thoughts out.

I squeeze my head tight between my palms and go back to just a little while ago. I picture April's naked body on top of me on the couch, her face pressed into my neck with her tongue on my throat. I remember the way her skin felt under my touch, the way her hips moved when I was inside her, the way her mouth fell open when I made her come. I try and remember how soft her hair is, how she sounded, how she tasted, but it doesn't help.

It brings too many emotions to the forefront of my brain. I don't know what I feel for her, and picturing us having sex doesn't make that any clearer. It can't happen again, I know that much now. If it sends me into this kind of turmoil, I can't keep doing it. Even if it does feel amazing in the moment, I don't have the strength to have a comedown like this every time it's over.

I shake my head roughly and force myself to think about something else. Something older, something calmer, something I can hold onto.

I think about something I held onto overseas when things got hard. While we were in our bunks and could still hear gunfire raining down in villages far from ours, it wasn't easy to get to sleep. So I would always recall the same memory, one where I felt completely at peace and happy, and it would help transport me home. Transport me back to that very moment, when everything was simple.

 _It was our senior summer - the one where I could legally drive without an adult in the car, and April and I both had the day off from work. So she was in my passenger's seat in white shorts and a peach top with her bikini underneath, and we were headed to South Haven to go to the beach._

 _All of the windows were down and her hair was flying in the wind. She had her eyes closed with the sun on her face, a small smile on her lips, and I couldn't help but take her hand when we stopped at a stoplight._

 _She looked over at me, the ghost of a grin still present. "What?" she asked, but didn't let go._

 _"Nothing," I said, and faced the road again. I drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other gripping hers. I didn't want to let her go, and I don't think she wanted me to, either._

 _We went and got ice cream first from Kilwin's, the best ice cream place in town. I watched April stand at the counter, her arms tucked into her chest, as she read the menu board even though we both knew she'd get the same thing she always did._

 _"Mint chocolate chip, please," she said. "A double."_

 _"Ooh, a double," I said, sauntering up to her. "Livin' large."_

 _She rolled her eyes and bumped me with her hip._

 _"I'll have Mackinac Island Fudge," I said. "A double, too."_

 _"Livin' large," she said, her voice mocking mine._

 _This time it was my turn to roll my eyes. She pulled out her money to pay, but I pushed her hand away. "I got this," I said._

 _"Jackson," she said, but didn't finish as I laid a $10 bill on the counter. I left the change in the tip jar and we walked outside, our ice cream beginning to melt from the steady sun beating down._

 _We walked to the pier, but not all the way to the end. We found a clear spot in the middle and I handed April my cone to hold as I sat down, but as she licked her own, both of my scoops toppled to the concrete with a pathetic sounding 'squish.'_

 _"Oh, no!" she said, kneeling down to try and fix it somehow. She poised her hands by it like she was going to pick it up, but I stopped her. "I didn't mean to drop it, I'm so sorry. Do you want to go get a new one? I'll pay for it."_

 _I laughed and motioned for her to sit down next to me, away from the spill. She scooted close so our hips were right against each other, our elbows resting on the guardrail, legs hanging over._

 _"It's fine," I said. "I don't want to go all the way back."_

 _She sighed. "Well, then we should share mine," she said, offering it to me._

 _"You don't have to," I said. "I'm okay."_

 _"I want to!" she insisted. "Lick it."_

 _"April."_

 _She gave me a look. "Jackson," she said, fake-sternly. "Lick my ice cream or forever hold your peace."_

 _We busted up laughing and I took a bite of it while she still held the cone, keeping eye contact the entire time._

 _"We'll share it," she said, taking a lick herself. "It's good, right?"_

 _"Delicious," I agreed._

 _"Wanna hold it?" she asked. "You have the napkins, and it's melting on me."_

 _I took it from her and licked what was dripping, then extended it out for her. With a smile, she moved her head closer and closed her lips around the soft ice cream, chewing on a chocolate chunk when she was done._

 _"Ooh, got a good bite," she said, and leaned to the side to rest her head on my shoulder._

 _We took turns eating it; I'd take a bite then lower it down to her where she stayed propped against me, and finished it like that. When she took the last bite of the cone, we got up and made our way towards the beach._

 _"This will be the year that I get a tan," April said, after we laid our beach blanket out. "You just watch."_

 _"Yeah, yeah, okay," I said, snickering. "I'll believe it when I see it."_

 _"You will."_

 _"Sure."_

 _She scoffed at me and tied her hair up in a ponytail, then stripped off her shorts and t-shirt to expose her bikini underneath. It was definitely modest - the bottoms weren't low and the top was a bandeau instead of a v-cut - but the way the green stood out against her skin and hair was doing things to me. I didn't let myself look for too long, otherwise I know she'd catch me staring. Staring at her smooth, creamy legs, her stomach, the dimples on the small of her back, no. I definitely didn't want to be caught looking at any of that._

 _She sat down and looked my way through her sunglasses. "Are you gonna swim?" she asked._

 _"Are you gonna put on sunscreen?" I countered back._

 _She pursed her lips. "I'm getting there," she said, pulling out the tube. She squirted some into her palms and rubbed it over her shoulders, chest, face, stomach and legs, but propped herself up on her knees afterwards._

 _"Will you do my back?" she asked. "I can't reach."_

 _She swiped her ponytail out of the way and I complied, of course, and knelt behind her as I squirted sunscreen onto my own hands. I rubbed it over the backs of her shoulders down lower, until I reached the small of her back. I tried not to let myself look, but when my fingers grazed the waistband of her bikini bottoms, I jolted away._

 _She chuckled. "See a mouse?" she asked._

 _"Shut up," I said. "Do me."_

 _She slathered the white lotion all over my back too, giving my shoulders a squeeze once she was done. That only proved to me that she definitely didn't have feelings for me, if she could be so comfortable with my naked back while I was so nervous around hers._

 _I went in the water for a while while April stayed on the sand, and when I came back, shaking the droplets from my curly hair, she was asleep. The sun was beating right down onto her, and I could already see a pink tinge appearing on her skin. I didn't want to wake her, but I also didn't want her to burn, so I took my towel and laid it over most of her body. Unfortunately, she wouldn't get a tan, but she'd thank me later._

Recalling the physical feelings from that memory - the way the sun felt on my skin, the warm breeze on my face, the sweet ice cream on my tongue - brings me back to a place of mental stability. It's something I can hold onto, something that I can control, a time when I was purely happy. I didn't have a single worry in the world. The things that seemed big were nothing compared to my strife now. So when I'm able to go back and relive that moment for just a little while, it does me a whole lot of good.

I still don't sleep, though. With sleep comes nightmares, and I don't want to go back there. So I stay up for most of the night, taking catnaps here and there, and go downstairs to turn on the coffee maker once an acceptable hour rolls around.

April's face when I tell her that last night can't happen again is almost enough for me to take it back, but I know I can't. I can see the shame painted in her eyes, along with the embarrassment and pain. I didn't want to hurt her, but I can't keep digging a deeper hole for myself. It just can't happen right now.

I want to tell her something that'll make it better. I wish I could tell her the reason why, but coming out and explaining why we can't sleep together is almost more trouble than it's worth. I don't know how to define what I have going on. Do I have PTSD? Am I in shock? Do I have some other kind of emotional disorder? I don't know. And I don't want her to have to see me in whatever state I go into after it happens. She won't like me then. She won't recognize me. And the last thing I want is for April to be scared of me.

She can't see me like that.

When she leaves for yoga, I look at the coffee that she's left untouched on the counter and sigh. After I'm done drinking mine, I go back upstairs and unpack my suitcase, then sit in the armchair in the corner of the guest room to look out the window.

I end up nodding off because of how little sleep I got, and when I wake up, the sun is shining brightly into the room. That means it's either late morning or early afternoon, so I haul myself out of the chair and start towards the bathroom so I can get in the shower.

The door is closed, but I don't pay it any mind. I must have closed it earlier. So with my head towards the ground, I push open the door and find the light already on, which is confusing.

Before I have time to register what's happening, the scene is laid out in front of me. It's hard for me to hear things that I'm not looking at, so I didn't hear the water running, but I can see now that the shower is on and April is inside it. It happens in a split second, but the moment drags on forever as I catch sight of her leaning against the side wall, perfectly visible through the glass panel, head thrown back as one hand is tucked between her legs. Her mouth is open as the sound of her moaning gets lost under the sound of the water, and I can see her hand moving quickly and fervently. Her hair is slicked back from her face as the water runs over her body, and as her hips lift to meet her hand I can tell that she's close. I can't keep watching this.

"Shit," I say under my breath, then turn to leave in hopes she didn't notice me.

"Oh, god!" she shrieks, and I keep my back turned as I hear something clatter in the shower. "Jackson, god! I thought you were… I checked and you were asleep! My shower's clogged, I had to use this one… I didn't-I didn't think you'd wake up. I'm so… oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh… my god. You weren't supposed to… you just saw… oh, my god."

"It's fine," I say, shoulders hunched by my ears as I stay faced the other way. "I can wait."

"I'm almost done," she says, then makes a frustrated sound. "Not like that! I'm almost done in here, I can be finished. I just have to rinse off, I… just a second, okay? Then you can have your shower. Oh, my god."

"No problem," I say, voice a little pinched. "Take your time. I… I'll go back to my room for a bit 'til you're done."

I shut the door behind me and let out a long gust of air, holding my head between my hands as I shut my door behind me. Holy shit. Seeing her like that definitely does not help the fact that I'm trying to resist her, because she looked fucking hot under that water, getting herself off. I've never seen her do that - it never even crossed my mind that she would. But I guess she's a human with needs and… there's no reason why she shouldn't.

I have the undying urge to know what she was thinking about - or who, rather. It's hypocritical of me to hope that she was thinking about me. About us, last night.

Her body is beautiful. When we were kids, it was different. She was thin and undeveloped, and if I were still attracted to that there would be a problem. But no, now she's a woman in every sense of the word, and I'm still getting used to her like this. It happened in the blink of an eye - the last time I saw her she was a scrawny teen. Now, she's anything but that.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can't stop thinking about her. I'm mostly hard in my pants and I feel like a total ass, but tell myself that I have to get release somehow. So I get up, lock the door, and jerk off as quietly as I can while regrettably thinking about what I just caught her doing.

A soft knock on the door yanks me out of my come-down, and I open my eyes as my breath regulates. "Yeah?"

"I'm done in there," she says, her voice somewhat muffled. "I… I'm sorry again."

"It's nothing," I say, balling up a wad of Kleenex and shoving it into my sweatpants pocket to throw away later. I don't want her knowing what I was up to.

"So, you can get in now," she says, lingering. "I'll leave you to it."

"Sounds good."

The rest of the day passes slowly and uneventfully. I'm in a fog from last night, and April seems to be purposefully avoiding me. She's polite, but removed. I don't know how to interact with her when she's acting this way, so I just choose not to. This morning with rejecting her and later with catching her in the shower… neither of those things add up to comfortable conversation. So today, I keep to myself and stay quiet in the guest room.

I come downstairs when I get hungry and the sun starts to go down, thinking that I'll make myself some dinner without bothering her. But I find her already downstairs, in a dress no less, her face made up and hair curled to perfection.

She's sitting at the dining room table looking at her phone when I walk in, and I'm sure she notices the second I take to study her getup.

"What are you all dressed up for?" I ask.

"Oh," she says, looking up from her phone. "I have a date."

For some reason, that catches me off guard. I've taken all the steps in squashing the embers of a romantic relationship with her, so I have no right whatsoever to be upset, but lately, my specialty hasn't exactly been rationality.

"Hmm," I say, walking past her into the kitchen.

"Hmm?" she mimics. "What's that mean?"

"Nothing," I say. "What's his name?"

I hear the sound of her setting her phone down. "Matthew," she says.

"Where'd you meet him?" I ask.

She lets out an annoyed little sound. "Yoga, this morning. If you must know."

"Nice," I say. "Where are the pots?"

She points. "Under the oven," she says.

I pull one out and turn on the sink to fill it with water. "What are you guys gonna do?" I say.

"He's taking me out to dinner," she says. "Zazio's."

"Fancy," I say, shutting the water off and setting the pot on the range.

"I guess," she says.

"Well, you're sure dressed up for it," I say.

"Right," she says. "What are you doing tonight?"

I turn around and look at her. "This," I say.

She looks at me with a guarded expression, and I can tell there are things she wants to say but isn't saying. Probably a lot of them, too. Questions unasked, comments unsaid. And judging by her stubbornness and mine, they'll stay that way.

"Sounds relaxing," she says, then pauses for a moment. "Listen, Jackson, about earlier… I-" The sound of the doorbell ringing cuts her off, and her eyes light up. "Oh, that must be him." She gets up from her spot at the table and disappears into the foyer, and I hear her cordial voice once she opens the door. Her words are impossible to make out from this far away, but I do my best in trying. I can't get anything specific, I just hear her sounding polite and happy.

I wait for the sound of the door closing, but I hear footsteps coming closer instead. Suddenly, a very tall man appears in the entryway and April looks tiny in comparison to him. I don't know why I picture it right off the bat, but I cringe when I imagine then intimately. He's a big guy. He'd break her hips.

I shudder at the thought.

"I just have to grab my purse," she tells him, smiling over her shoulder. My gut twists at the way her eyes sparkle in his direction, joined by my skin heating up when he makes her laugh by something he says that I can't quite catch. "This is Jackson, by the way," she says. "My friend. And roommate now, I guess." She giggles a bit at herself. I don't know why she's so giggly - it's not like her. This isn't her. "Jackson, this is Matthew."

I force a smile that I'm sure looks pained. "Nice to meet you," I say, but stay planted where I am without any effort to cross and shake his hand. I already can't stand the guy, and he hasn't said a word to me yet.

"You as well," he says, smiling. I don't give one back, and I can feel April's eyes on me.

She's not happy with me, I can tell that much. But I don't care. I'm suddenly in a horrible mood, and I don't want to be looking at this guy's face for one more second.

"Okay, well we're heading out," she says, her voice short. "Don't wait up."

"Mm-hmm," I say, and turn back towards my pot of boiling water.

After they leave, the water isn't the only thing that's boiling. I'm angry at myself mostly, for feeling this much about a stupid date she's going on. She's not my property. We haven't seen each other in over a decade. I hadn't wanted her to wait up for me, and I told her just hours ago that we couldn't be a thing. So how can I be mad now that she's interested in someone else? I have no right to be mad. I know that.

But it doesn't change the fact that I'm so jealous I can't see straight.

I don't want his eyes on her in her pretty pink dress. I don't want his arm around her waist or her hand in his. I don't want his jacket around her shoulders and I especially don't want his lips on hers.

I imagine myself going up to him after April's told him goodnight and telling him the person I _know_ she was thinking about today in the shower while touching herself. That person was me, and I'd love for this Matthew guy to know that.

I barely touch my pasta and put most of it in a Tupperware container to store in the fridge. I turn on the TV in the living room and am thankful for the subtitles, because that way I can sit a normal distance away without having to read everyone's lips when the talking gets quiet.

I don't remember falling asleep, but I'm woken up by the sound of the front door closing and April's heels on the hardwood floor as she heads inside. As I open my eyes, I can smell her perfume as she appears next to the couch.

"Oh, hey," she says, lifting her purse from her shoulder. "Did I wake you? You should go up to bed."

"Why?" I say, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. "You gonna invite him in? So you he can fuck you on the same couch I did? I can move, by all means."

I regret what I said as soon as I say it. Her face changes; she looks shocked and aghast, she even takes a step away from me.

"That was mean," she says, her mouth turning down in a frown. "That was really gross of you, Jackson."

I shake my head, rubbing my temples. "I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean it, I-"

I can see that her eyes are glistening with tears, and now I really feel like an ass. I shouldn't have said it, but it just flew out. Sometimes I can't control what comes out of my mouth.

"I had a nice time tonight," she says. "And I know you want to ruin it for me. But I won't let you." She sighs forcefully. "You can't tell me you don't want to sleep with me, then condemn me for going out with someone else." She shakes her head, and her curls bounce. "That's not fair. And you know it."

I sit forward on the cushion, looking at her desperately. I don't want to fight with her, because we've never fought before. I've never said something that nasty to her, and I don't want to start now. She didn't deserve it. I let my temper take over, which I shouldn't have done.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I know, it was wrong."

I do know it was wrong, but I'm still hurt she went out with Matthew. I can't put into words the reason why, but it doesn't change the fact that that feeling is there.

"It _was_ wrong," she says, voice wavering. Shit, she's going to cry. And it's going to be my fault. "And it hurt my feelings."

I stand up and walk over to her, but she crosses her arms over her chest to close her body off.

"You're jealous," she says, spitting the words at me. "And whatever… but don't take it out on me."

I'm blanched by the fact that she just came out and said it, laid my emotions so flat out and bare. I shouldn't refute it, because she's right, but I still want to.

"No, I'm not," I say.

She gives me a look with her still-shiny eyes. "Yeah, okay," she says, voice waterlogged. "You don't like seeing me with someone else. You told me you hadn't wanted me to hold out, but now you do. Now that you're back you just… you can't expect me to turn my whole life around for you when you pushed me away last night. I can't do that. I don't even know how."

I'm at a loss for words. I can't tell her the real reason why I pushed her away, because I don't want to scare her. I don't want her to see me differently - as a person changed by war. I want to be the same person I always was for her, even though I'm definitely not the teenager she last saw when we were seventeen.

"I-I know," I say, finding it hard to meet her eyes.

Her pinpointing my mistakes and exposing them reminds me that still, after all this time, no one knows me better than she does.

"I'm just… it caught me off guard because…" I'm struggling for words, struggling to find something to fill this weird silence. "Because of the promise, you know?"

She squints her eyes. "The promise?"

 _Once again, it was our senior summer. The summer that seemingly everything that had been waiting to happen between us tried to happen._

 _It was a couple weeks after I'd broken up with Steph. April and I were outside in my backyard, a few feet away from the jungle gym where we'd first bonded, waiting for the Fourth of July fireworks to start. Turns out, my house had the perfect view, so we found our way here every year._

 _She was wearing denim shorts and a hoodie from Warner Camp, where she'd been a counselor last year. Not this year, because she needed to work at the movie theater to save up some money. Luckily, I worked at the grocery store right across the street and we saw each other on our breaks._

 _The sky began to get darker and she wrapped her arms around her legs to try and keep herself warm. I noticed she was cold and waved her over, spreading my knees so she could sit between them and lean back against my chest. I wrapped my arms around hers and ran my hands down her skin to make the goosebumps disappear, and she settled into me._

 _"Much better," she said, turning her head so I could see the pleased expression on her face._

 _"Good," I said, keeping her close._

 _She paused for a moment. "Do you think you'll come back here for the summers?" she asked._

 _"I don't know, Angel," I answered truthfully. I had no idea what tomorrow would look like, no less my life at school. I was scared of how much would change, and I knew she was, too. I didn't like talking about it, but that's how April resolved things and made herself feel better. By talking things through._

 _My solution was always the opposite, albeit less productive, way._

 _"I hope you do," she said. "Because I probably will. And I don't want this to be the last time we do this, you know?"_

 _She turned her head back to face forward and rested against my collarbone. I wanted nothing more than to drop a kiss on her temple or her cheek, but I was too scared. I didn't know what she'd think, so I stayed still._

 _"I know," I said, because it was true. I didn't want this to be our last anything. I was going to miss her like crazy, I couldn't imagine what my life would look like without her in it every single day. It was going to suck._

 _"We should make a promise," she said, a smile in her voice._

 _"Like what?" I asked._

 _She capped her hands over both of my knees. "If neither of us are dating anyone or like, married, by the time we're… thirty, we try dating each other."_

 _She looked back at me with a smile, eyes lit up._

 _"That'd work," I said, nodding._

 _"You have to say you promise," she said._

 _"Are you gonna make me spit in my palm and shake yours like when we were kids?" I asked, laughing._

 _"No," she said, tone turning serious. "But you have to say you promise."_

 _I paused for a minute, just watching her watch me. "I promise," I said._

 _When the first firework went off above our heads, she turned her eyes to the sky to watch, and the red light shone on her face. I'd never wanted to kiss anyone so bad._

"The promise," I say. "That we made when we were kids."

She pinches her lips and I can see her jaw clench. "Jackson, we were seventeen when we said that," she says, shaking her head slightly. "We were kids. We… we had no idea what real life was like. What it would throw us. It's just… that's not realistic anymore, and I know you know that." She lifts one hand and picks at her nails, staring at them instead of making eye contact with me. "You're not making any sense."

"Why?" I ask.

She widens her hazel eyes. "Because!" she says, throwing her hands up. "You pushed me away, and now you want me. That's called being confusing, Jackson!" She turns around, then turns back. "You just want me now because you saw me with someone and you got jealous. You want me because you can't have me."

I shake my head now. "That's not it," I say. "I've always…" I cut myself off. I can't finish, though she's staring at me and waiting. "Nothing," I say.

The expression on her face is desperate. "I don't know what to say to you," she says softly. "Things are different now. That's obvious. I was silly to think that we'd just go right back to the way things were, that was a dumb thought. We're older now, we're not kids, and… and… we have to get to know each other all over again."

"April, if me living here isn't gonna work out-"

"No," she says, extending one palm. "I didn't say that. You're still welcome here, I would never kick you out." She gives me a meaningful look, and her face softens. "I just… it's hard, you being here and… all those feelings from years ago… I…" She sighs, unable to put together a coherent sentence. "I don't know what I'm trying to say," she admits.

But I understand her. I don't understand myself, but I understand her. I want her, but I know I can't have her. I want her, but I know I'll only hurt her. I want her, but I know in the long-run, she probably won't want me.

Because she's right. We're not the same people we were fifteen years ago. And once she gets to know the man I am now, my guess is that she probably won't like him.

"I'm sorry for lashing out," I say, tying up the loose ends of the conversation. That's what it comes down to. It's much messier than that, but I can apologize for that much right now. That's what I can handle.

"Thank you," she says. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, you know, with Matthew over here."

I turn the corners of my lips down and shake my head, acting like it was no big deal. "I'll live," I say.

We spend a moment just looking at each other before I see her chest rise and fall with a sigh. "I… I should get to bed," she says. "I have to be at the hospital bright and early tomorrow."

I nod. "Sleep well," I say.

"Are you?" she asks, and I don't know why. It's just the caretaker in her, I guess. "Are you going up soon?"

"I don't know," I say. "Maybe."

She doesn't need to know that I probably won't sleep a wink tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

APRIL

A week goes by where Jackson and I try to forget about the Sunday prior. When the weekend rolls around again, I'm a little nervous but mostly looking forward to getting to spend time at home. Time at home with him.

I wake up on Saturday morning and change into my yoga clothes - I decided not to go to class, but to work on my own practice here. That way, I don't have to ditch Jackson like I've had to do every day this week. I've been worried about him. I think he's under-stimulated.

When I came home from work each night, he was in one of two spots. Sitting on the back porch staring out at the golf course and the people that go by, or asleep on the couch sitting up. I know he's not sleeping at night, though he thinks I'm none the wiser.

I've heard him in his room, walking around. It sounds like he's pacing. A few times I've considered knocking on the door to check if everything's alright, but I didn't want to be intrusive. So I let him be. But I'm starting to wonder if he ever sleeps, other than while Dr. Phil is on.

I don't doubt he's depressed, at the very least. My guess would be that he has some form of PTSD, though I haven't brought it up. He hasn't brought it up to me, so I haven't crossed that line. But I'm a doctor; I'm not blind to his symptoms. He does his best at hiding them, but his best isn't very good.

Even though it's been a long time, I still know him better than anyone. And he can't hide this from me. But I'll wait until he's comfortable enough to talk about it. I'm not one to force.

I hear the coffee maker going as I come down the stairs, and see Jackson standing in his usual spot against the counter when I round the corner.

"Morning," he says, shuffling to grab a mug. "Want a cup?"

"No thanks," I say. "It's yoga time. Screwy stomach, remember?"

He chuckles to himself, back still faced towards me.

"You shouldn't, either," I say.

"Why's that?" he asks, taking a mug down anyway.

"I…" I try and think of a way to phrase what I want to say without sounding pushy or motherly. I don't know if anything that comes out will be worthwhile, but I figure it's worth a try. I want him to know I care without diving headfirst into his traumatic past. "I was hoping you might join me this morning. For yoga."

He looks at me over his shoulder and blinks a few times, taking a moment to respond. "What?" he says.

I sigh. "Jackson, come on. You won't hate it, I promise."

"No, no." He shakes his head. "I really didn't hear you."

"Oh," I say, brightening up. "I asked if you would do yoga with me this morning."

His eyebrows lower as he contemplates. "I don't have the money to spare for your class," he says. "And I'm not gonna let you-"

"No, silly," I say, and fan my arm out playfully towards the living room. "Our very own practice. Right here at home."

He sighs softly and looks between me and the living room.

"It's relaxing," I say. "I won't make you do anything crazy."

"Alright, fine," he says, setting the still-empty mug down. "Save the headstands for a different day."

I laugh and lead the way to where I usually set up. "Okay," I say. "I promise."

"And seriously," he says. "Easy on the knee. It's still sensitive."

"Okay," I say, and roll my mat out. I pull my extra one from the hall closet and set him up right next to me. "Let me start off with a question. What part of your body holds the most stress, do you think?"

He looks at me blankly and says, "I have no idea."

I move my lips to the side as I think. "Okay, let me rephrase. Where do you get tight first?"

His eyes flash.

I say, "Don't."

He snorts. "My lower back, probably."

"Okay, perfect," I say. "I have the perfect stretch for you. I want you to start lying on your back-"

"Aren't you gonna do it, too?" he asks, looking at me self-consciously from where he sits cross-legged on the purple mat I gave him.

"Eventually," I say. "I have to show you how first, don't I?" I give him a warm smile, and his eyes soften significantly. "Okay. Like I said, flat on your back."

He follows my direction and lies there, stiff as a board. I sigh to myself and realize this going to be a lot more work that I originally planned. He might need someone with more expertise than I have.

"We'll stretch the left side first. So extend your left arm fully out to the side, then grab your left knee with your right hand and pull it over your right leg to rest that knee gently on the ground."

He starts moving all his limbs at once, then stops and looks at me with a confused look on his face. "Wait, what?" he says.

"Let me just show you," I say, then crawl closer to him on my hands and knees. "You just-"

As I touch his shin to move his leg, he flinches. It's a tiny micromovement, but it doesn't get past me. I take pause for a second and raise my eyes to meet his, shocked that my touch of all people's would cause him to flinch away.

Because it never used to be like that.

 _One of our favorite things to do in the summer was go to the cornfield. Living in Southwest Michigan, every other summer was a corn summer. And when the stalks were high, we'd sneak out of our houses in the middle of the night and go to the one right behind our neighborhood._

 _That night was different - it was the beginning of August and the air was heavy with humidity and unspoken feelings. Probably just on my end, of course. Jackson had broken up with his girlfriend, Steph, towards the beginning of the summer, and it seemed like ever since that time I'd been having very questionable dreams about him._

 _So every time we hung out, which happened to be a lot, I'd have to shove those dreams to the recesses of my mind and try to think of anything but the way they made me feel. And consequently, the way_ he _made me feel._

 _"Angel," I heard him hiss through the darkness. "Turn your light out. You trying to get us caught?"_

 _I laughed and flipped my flashlight off, tucking it into the front pocket of my hoodie._

 _"Took you long enough, slowpoke," I said, and socked him in the shoulder once he made it to me._

 _"My mom was asleep on the couch," he said. "I had to wait 'til she went to bed."_

 _I rolled my eyes and laughed, but even still - felt the electricity between our bodies. I wondered if he did, too. Probably not._

 _"What are we waiting for?" he asked. "Let's go. Come on!"_

 _He took off in a flash into the tall corn stalks, and I went in behind him. I was a fast runner, but since he hit puberty his legs got long and muscular. I had no hopes of catching up._

 _"Slow down!" I insisted. "I'm gonna lose you and get all turned around in here, and it's gonna be your fault when they find my dead body!"_

 _"As if you don't know your way to the clearing," he said, but came back around anyway. "Belt loops," he said._

 _I flashed him a smile and threaded my fingers through his belt loops, so when we started running again I could keep up. It was a little awkward, but it worked. Touching each other wasn't strange, it was an everyday occurrence. I was more used to Jackson touching me than my own family, nothing about it ever made me uncomfortable or jumpy._

 _We continued to sprint through the corn, one of my hands on his waist, until we got separated. I stopped, breathless, and bent in half with my hands on my knees. I knew where I was; I took a few steps forward and was in the clearing, where we were headed. But now, Jackson was nowhere to be found._

 _This was the place where my dreams always started. We'd be right here in this clearing, together under the stars like always. And he would say something to me, all soft and slow, something different every time. I could never remember the exact phrasing when I woke up, but I remembered the butterflies his words gave me while I was asleep. He'd look at me with those hypnotic eyes that made all the girls fall at his feet, and somehow get me on my back._

 _In the dreams, I was never nervous. Never self-conscious and never afraid. I always wanted it, wanted him, so badly. I would strip off my top and unclip the front clasp of my bra I always wore, without any prompting. And he'd look at me hungrily, in a way I'd only seen in romantic movies, a way that I could only hope I'd get looked at someday, and go for my chest. He'd squeeze my breasts together and cover them with his mouth, and it would feel so good. So perfect._

 _Eventually, he'd pin my hands above my head by threading his fingers through mine. I never noticed the rough ground scratching my skin, but I noticed how strong he felt. And I loved it._

 _Or sometimes, he'd be under me and we would be making out like crazy while my hips grinded against his. I always knew what I was doing - there was never any unsureness. I think that's what I liked best about the dreams: I never felt insecure._

 _When I woke up, it was usually still dark. It was the middle of the night, and every time without fail, I'd have to get up and change my underwear. It was beyond embarrassing. I wasn't exactly sure what the term 'wet dream' meant until I started having them myself._

 _About Jackson, my best friend since elementary school._

 _Mortifying._

 _But this wasn't a dream, it was real life. And Jackson was actually nowhere to be found._

 _"Jackson!" I hissed, turning my flashlight back on. "Jackson Avery! You better show yourself right now, or-"_

 _Before I had time to react, I heard playful, pounding footsteps and felt a pair of sturdy arms wrap around my waist and lift me off the ground, spinning me from behind._

 _"Or what?" he said, voice close to my ear. I could hear the laughter in it._

 _I wanted to be mad at him, but he made it so hard._

 _He spun me twice and was laughing when he put me down, and I had to fight to keep the smile off my face. "I hate you!" I said, pointing my flashlight at him._

 _He took it out of my grip and shut it off. "You seriously wanna get us caught so bad tonight," he said slyly._

 _"I could seriously smack you," I said. "You know that?!"_

 _He looked at me with a mischievous look in his eyes. "With an open hand," he said, then turned around. "And only on the ass."_

 _I couldn't keep the smile away then. While still trying to keep our cover, we both busted up in silly giggles, and collapsed down onto the flattened corn to look up at the sky._

"Oh, sorry," I say, pulling my hand from his leg.

"It's fine," he says, watching me pointedly. "I- sorry. I didn't mean… it's not you."

"Okay," I say, then push on his leg again. I clear my throat before I start talking. "Just pull this leg over to your opposite side, and you'll feel a nice twist in your spine. Or you should."

He moves his body in the way I showed him, but the look on his face isn't exactly serene.

"Does it feel good?" I ask.

"No," he says, voice strained.

I can't help but chuckle as he unfolds himself from the stretch and comes back to a seated position. "You're too tense," I say.

He sighs. "Maybe I need to see how it's done before you throw me headfirst into the practice," he says. "Geez."

The twinkle in his eyes reminds me of the old Jackson and lets me know that he's messing with me.

"You do your thing, I'll be on the couch," he says. "I need a class for like, beginning beginners. The baby class."

"That'd be a sight," I say, getting on the mat and taking some deep breaths.

I go through my routine and feel his gentle eyes, but it doesn't bother me. I like having him in the room as I go through this, even if he can't do it himself. It's just nice that he's here, keeping me company.

Jackson and I spend a quiet day together around the house, doing chores and cooking and eating. Matthew calls to ask if I want to go out tonight, but I turn him down and reschedule without Jackson even knowing that my phone rang. It's not that I don't want to see him, but Jackson's mental health takes precedence over a casual Saturday night date. My best friend needs me, and I want to be there for him.

I know he would do the same for me.

We watch a movie at night, but we don't sit on the same couch. I felt the pull to sit by him, but I didn't give in to it. I sat on the armchair and he sat where he did last time, and we enjoyed ourselves all the same. No sex was had; there weren't even any wayward glances. We took what we learned from last time and put it to use.

For once.

After the movie is over, I get up from the couch and yawn with my arms stretched high above my head. "I think I'm gonna turn in," I say, padding over to him. It seems like normal bedtime routine to give him a hug, but I don't know if he's okay with it. So I decide I better ask. "Can I give you a hug?"

He looks at me funny. "Of course you can," he says, and reaches his arms out.

I melt against him, tucking my face into his neck as I breathe deeply. I squeeze his shoulders and pinch my eyes shut tight, and feel a small gust of air escape him. "Night," I say.

He touches my cheek with his thumb as I pull away. "Night," he replies.

I go up to bed and turn onto my side, comforted by the white noise of the TV coming from downstairs. I have no idea what to feel. There's no denying that my feelings for Jackson are unburying themselves and showing up in the most inopportune of times. Or opportune, depending on how you look at it. But he doesn't want a relationship, he made that pretty clear. And I have Matthew. I'm hoping that, over time, my feelings for Jackson will just wash over to Matthew. Like osmosis, or something.

I fall asleep quickly and fall into a dream where I know I'm dreaming, but it doesn't make it any less exciting or pleasurable. But as time passes, my conscious shuts off and I forget that I'm asleep, and the awareness goes away. I feel like I'm living it, like it's really happening to me.

I'm in the kitchen cooking for Matthew, who's coming over for dinner. I have on a pretty green dress with an apron so I won't stain it, and I'm just finishing mixing up cookie dough for dessert when I hear Jackson walk in.

I don't look over my shoulder because I don't have to. His footsteps give him away, and they're coming closer and closer.

"Looks good," he says, and the peach fuzz on the back of my neck rises up from how close his voice is.

"Don't think you're getting any," I say quietly, still stirring with a wooden spoon.

He chuckles softly. "That's not the reason I came in here," he says.

I lean my neck to one side, feeling a slight draft on my skin with my hair tied up. "Why're you here, then?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the bowl.

"Because," he says, and I feel his hands on my hips as they circle around my waist, linking together on my stomach. "You look amazing in that apron."

My breath hitches in my throat. I can feel his breath on my neck now, and it's making goosebumps show up on my legs. The area between my thighs is throbbing subtly, just enough for me to notice.

"I know you want this," I say, dipping one finger into the dough and coming out with a considerable amount. I offer it over my shoulder, and when his warm, wet mouth closes around it, I swear I could melt right to the floor.

He sucks on my finger and curls his tongue around the tip while keeping intense eye contact. When he pulls off, I'm breathless and hot and I want him more than ever.

"Delicious," he says, then reaches around and dips that same finger in, offering it to me. "You try."

My heart flutters in my chest as I hold his wrist and suck the dough from his finger. He licks his lips as I graze his knuckle with my teeth, and I pull off with a soft popping sound.

"So sweet," I murmur, eyes roaming to his parted lips.

Then, with steady hands on my hips, he turns me back around with my hands braced on the counter. "I know something sweeter," he says, pressing his lips to the curve of my neck.

I let my weight fall to my arms and drop my head to one side, feeling his tongue lave over my skin as he closed his lips every now and then. He hugs my waist closer, and I arch my back so my ass presses right into his groin, and I hear the air escape him because of it.

"You taste so good," he says, sucking on my pulse point so my eyelashes flutter.

I lose my breath when I feel his hands on the back of my apron, untying it slowly so the strings drop to either side. I go to help him, reaching towards the tie behind my neck, but he stops me.

"I want you to keep it on," he says.

My mouth goes dry and the throbbing is past the point of ignoring now. I quickly turn around and hold his face in my hands, kissing him on the mouth with everything I can muster, and his hands slide around my body to roughly squeeze my behind. I moan and he swallows the sound, yanking me closer so I can feel his erection against my thigh.

"I want you," I say, and look up at him through my thick eyelashes. "Jackson, please."

He licks his lower lip and takes me by the hips again, turning me deftly back around to face the counter. I rest my weight on my palms and press my thighs together when I feel his hands on the hem of my skirt, then whimper and jolt forward when he pulls the tight material up to rest around my waist.

I drop my chin to my chest and take in a deep breath, trembling as he runs his hands over the swell of my ass. He pulls my underwear down slowly and I step out of them, listening to the sound of his pants coming undone and anticipating what he'll feel like.

I feel his hand between my legs and I lurch forward, mouth dropping open as I hadn't expected that. I let out a rattling breath and hear his voice, low and raspy, lips on my ear again.

"You're wet," he says, grip tight on my ass.

"I realize," I say, and he pats me softly before pushing his way inside. "Oh, god," I moan, arching back against him. His hands are at my hip creases, keeping me close as if I planned on going anywhere, and his mouth is on my neck until I fall forward to rest on my elbows.

"Mm, fuck," he mutters, running a hand up my spine.

I lose every coherent thought I've ever had. I forget that I was making dinner for Matthew, forget what Jackson said about us not sleeping together; I throw my moral compass out the window because he feels so out-of-this-world good inside me that there's no room to think about anything else.

He grunts as he forces his hips against mine, and I can't help the sounds I'm making. I moan, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, and call out his name once I get close.

"Oh, god, I'm almost there," I say desperately, hips squirming and pressing against him. "I'm close. God, Jackson, I'm so close. Please… oh, my god…"

"April," I hear, and the voice is definitely his, but it doesn't sound like he's in the throes of ecstasy like I expected. I have a moment of dream-confusion before I hear it again. "April, wake up."

I blink my eyes open and see real-life Jackson standing over my bed, my pager in his hand.

"This thing's going off," he says. "Seems important. You left it downstairs."

"Shit," I say, taking it from him. I look at the page: 911. "I gotta get to the hospital."

I swing my legs out of bed and can feel his eyes on me. My heart is still pounding, I have a light sheen of sweat on my forehead, and he woke me up at just the wrong time. I didn't even get to come, which I'm disappointed about. Even though the situation was fake, the orgasm probably would've been real.

"What were ya dreamin' about?" he asks sneakily, lingering by the doorway.

"Nothing," I say, trying to sound casual. "I don't remember."

"Does this help?" he asks. " _Jackson… oh, Jackson_!"

My face bursts into flames as I stare at him with wide eyes. "I… I…" I stammer. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He turns his back as he walks out the door. "Sure, sure," he calls over his shoulder, then laughs. "Don't worry about it, Angel. I've been there too, a few times."

Angel. The nickname stays with me my entire drive to the hospital and longer, too, though it shouldn't. I shouldn't be thinking about Jackson while I perform emergency surgery on a 60-year-old woman who suffered a fall and has internal bleeding. I really shouldn't.

He's still on my mind as I'm scrubbing out, exchanging conversation with Owen for the first time since arriving.

"Something on your mind, Kep?" he asks as we throw our surgical masks into the medical waste bin.

"Hmm?" I say, raising my eyebrows as we walk into the hallway. The hospital is dim and quiet, normally I'd be calmed by being here. But right now, I'm wired.

"Something bothering you?" Owen asks again.

We've made our way to the attendings' lounge. When we open the door, Owen's wife, Amelia is already there. "Hey guys," she says, one leg crossed over the other as she sits on the couch.

"Hey," I say, sighing as I sit down next to her. Owen sits on my opposite side, waiting for an answer, so I give one to him. "And yeah," I say. "Something is on my mind."

"Time for a counseling session?" Amelia asks lightheartedly.

"Initiated by your husband," I say, and she laughs. "Have I ever talked to you about this boy - well, man. I guess he's a man now. Anyway, this man named Jackson?"

"Sounds familiar," Owen says.

"No, I remember," Amelia says. "He's your friend from when you were a kid, right?"

"Right," I say, shoulders slumping. Suddenly, exhaustion is hitting me like a truck. "My best friend. And we both moved away for college and I never heard from him again. That Jackson."

"Right, right," Owen says, nodding.

"Well, he's at my house right now," I say, and rest the back of my head on the cushion.

"Whoa," Amelia says. "Wait. What?"

"Yeah," I mutter. "He's apparently been in the army for a while, and he had nowhere else to go. They discharged him because of a knee injury, but…" I stare down at the floor. "I don't know. My best guess is that I think he's depressed. He can't work yet, he doesn't know anyone here, he just hangs out at the house all day with nothing to do. And I want to help, but I don't know how."

"Sounds like friends would be a good start," Owen says. "And I'm sure you're doing more than you think."

I look over to him. "Friends?" I ask, then look to Amelia. "Like you guys."

Amelia shrugs. "Sure."

"Would you come over for dinner?" I ask. "Tonight?" Technically, it's very early Sunday morning. "I can make whatever you want. I'm sure it'll be a good time. I'd love for you to meet him."

"That sounds like a great idea," Owen says.

They agree to come over, and I head home to get some sleep. I fall asleep just after 4am, and wake up around 9, and I hear Jackson already in the kitchen like usual.

Even though I got around five hours of sleep, I still feel groggy and tired. I'm rubbing my eyes, still in my pajamas, when I see him at the kitchen table sipping coffee.

"Morning," he says. He has the paper, which I didn't even know was delivered to my house.

"Morning," I say back, voice raspy.

"Headed to yoga?" he asks.

"No," I say, reaching for a mug. I fill it with coffee and cream, then sit next to him at the table. "I'm dead to the world this morning."

He chuckles a little and sets the paper down. "Rough night?" he says.

"Not even," I say, blinking hard to get the bleariness out of my eyes. "I just feel like I could sleep for a year."

"Nothing's happening around here," he says. "You don't have to worry about entertaining me, you know. You can go back to bed, if you want."

"No, no," I say, waving him off. "I hate sleeping in. The day gets wasted. And oh yeah, I need to tell you. I invited this couple who I'm good friends with over to dinner tonight."

He raises his eyebrows.

"They're nice," I say. "Owen and Amelia, I work with them. Owen runs the trauma department and Amelia's in neuro. Super smart. I think you'll like them."

He's still looking at me quizzically.

"What?" I finally say.

"Are you trying to make friends for me?" he asks. "Because I'm fine. I don't need-"

"No, no," I say, though that's not exactly true. "That's not it at all. I just think we'll have a good time, have a nice Sunday dinner, that's it. I'm not setting you up on a blind friend date."

He laughs. "So, if a couple's coming over for dinner, why don't you want Matthew here?" he asks. "Instead of me?"

I screw up my eyebrows. "What does he have to do with anything?" I say.

He looks at me like it should be obvious. "Like a double date," he says.

"It's not a double date," I say.

"It's gonna feel like one," he counters.

"No, it's not," I say, taking a drink of my coffee. I eye him, and know that what he walked in on in the middle of the night is at the forefront of his mind, because it's at mine, too. He played it off lightly then, but I can't help wondering what he thinks about it now. That's twice he's walked in on me in unflattering positions - once in the shower and now in bed. I can't seem to catch a break. He must think I'm some sort of sex fiend. "It'll be fun."

I go to church later in the day, and start dinner once I come back. I avoid my apron and tell myself I'll just have to get my nice clothes on once everything is already made, and am glad for my decision when Jackson finds his way into the kitchen.

"Need any help?" he asks.

"You can peel the potatoes," I say, nodding towards them. "And turn on some music, if you want. It's too quiet."

He turns on my iPod that's already plugged into the dock. "I see your taste in music hasn't changed," he says. "Cher, Selena, Britney, Train, classic."

I roll my eyes to myself. "Just hit shuffle," I say. "And don't judge."

He presses shuffle, and soon the sound of 'Dreaming of You' by Selena fill the room. I stop chopping parsley and freeze where I stand, feeling his gaze on my back.

"No way," he says warmly.

I look over my shoulder and find him smiling. "You remember this song?" I ask.

"Duh. How could I forget this?" he says. "Our first slow dance."

I smile to myself. "Our _only_ slow dance."

He takes a few steps closer. "Doesn't have to be."

I lift my eyes from the counter and meet his. "But you said-"

"Best friends," he says surely.

My heart swells as I remember the words we exchanged outside the school during our eighth grade dance, and can't say no to him. I drop my knife, wipe my hands on my lounge pants, and walk over.

Jackson takes my waist in his hands just like he had when we were 13, and this time we aren't at eye-level with each other. He's gotten significantly taller, and his hands on me are more confident. We still sway, though. We don't need any fancy movements, all we need is each other, right here in this kitchen, slow dancing to Selena.

He mouths the words and curls a piece of my hair behind my ear, and my heart flips inside my chest. I want to say something, but I can't think of anything that will fit.

I also want to kiss him, but I know I can't do that. I tell myself that if I feel these things looking into Jackson's eyes, I can't be with Matthew. Even casually. It's not fair to either of us - mostly him. I tell myself that I have to call him tomorrow.

When the song ends, Jackson wraps his arms around me in a tight hug. "Thank you," he murmurs, and warm tears prick the backs of my eyes.

Amelia and Owen arrive just as I'm finishing up dinner. I introduce everyone and pour glasses of wine, happy as I see two very important parts of my life come together in my home.

"Everything will be right out," I say. "I just need a couple more minutes."

"Do you need help in there?" Amelia asks.

"Oh, no," I say. "I'm fine. You guys relax, go sit on the porch or something! It's beautiful out there. I'll tell you when it's ready."

My stomach jumps as I watch the three of them through the kitchen window, talking easily amongst one another. It's only been a few minutes, but I have a good feeling about tonight.

"We were asking Jackson about how you guys met," Amelia says, once we're sitting down to eat. She laughs as she asks, "You weren't allowed to read the Goosebumps books?"

I give Jackson a knowing look, then move back to Amelia. "My parents said they were witchcraft," I say, shrugging. "I was 9. There was nothing I could do about it."

"Except reread Shel Silverstein 300 times," Jackson says jokingly.

"Well, right," I say.

"Let me guess," Amelia says, as the conversation moves along. "You two were each other's first kisses."

My face gets hot as I remember the moment Jackson and I had in the kitchen just an hour or so before that was so reminiscent of the night we shared our first kiss.

He smiles a bit bashfully. "Uh, yeah," he says.

"That's precious," Amelia says.

"How old were you?" Owen asks.

Jackson and I look at each other. "About 13," I say. "It was at our eighth grade dance."

"Outside the school, snuck out of the dance," Jackson says.

I can't help but smile as the memory comes back.

"And was it magical?" Amelia prompts. "

Jackson and I crack up laughing. "Not at all," I say.

"No, it was bad," he says. "We had no idea what we were doing."

"That's so cute!" Amelia says. "I love this. I love it so much. It's so interesting to see who April used to be. Don't worry, Jackson, we took care of her while you were gone."

The smile stays on his lips, but fades from his eyes. "Well, good," he says.

"Speaking of," Owen says. "Jackson, I heard you were in the army. I hope you don't mind my asking, but where were you stationed?" He uses the small pause to say, "I'm only wondering because I served for awhile, too. Ever since coming back to the States, there aren't many people I can talk about it with."

The look on Jackson's face is strange and detached. "I was in Afghanistan for a while," he says. "In Helmand Province, but I moved from there. I ended up somewhere in Qatar. That's where I got shipped home from."

Owen nods. "You glad to be back?" he asks.

Jacksons green eyes flit to me, where they rest for a moment. "Yeah," he answers softly.

"I was, too," Owen says. "I came back before I even met Amy. So I can't imagine how it must've felt seeing April… you know, after all these years had gone by. Must've been crazy."

He nods, looking down at his plate that he hasn't eaten very much of.

"I don't know what you would've thought had you known me before the army," Owen says to Amelia, who looks at him curiously. "I was different before all of it. It changes you." He looks across the table to Jackson, who I can tell is avoiding eye contact as best he can. "When I came back, I was a totally different person. It makes you realize that the kind of troubles we have here… they're nothing compared to over there. People are being blown up left and right, on bad days. Some days nothing happens. But other days, you see innocent civilians get killed. And… it's horrible. Just horrible."

While Owen is talking, I watch Jackson. He sets his fork down and blinks hard, his gaze directed down. His fists are clenched where they rest on his thighs, and his teeth are gritted together - I can see the swell of his cheeks because of it.

"Um, how was the ER after I left this morning?" I ask, trying desperately to change the subject. Something that Owen said obviously didn't sit right with Jackson, and I don't want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already is. This was supposed to be fun, not torturous.

"Oh," Owen says, perking up at the change of conversation. "Nothing much else happened after that big surgery. A teenage guy came in with his finger caught in a mousetrap, that was about it."

Amelia snorts. "Idiot."

I smile and look to Jackson. That was something he'd normally find funny, but his face is devoid of any emotion. His eyes are blank and glassy, his mouth is slack, and he's totally removed from the conversation. I decide not to draw any attention to him.

His behavior doesn't change for the rest of the night. While we have coffee and dessert, he doesn't say a single word. The next thing he says is a choked 'goodbye' as Owen and Amelia leave out the front door. They give me a sympathetic look after noticing his state, but I pretend not to see it. They don't need to worry about him. Whatever is wrong, I can fix it.

When I go back inside, Jackson is clearing the table.

"Oh, I can do that," I say, hurrying to help. "Don't worry about it."

"You cooked," he says, still intent on gathering. "It's only right."

"You've had a long night," I say, continuing to pick up empty glasses. "You must be tired, it was a lot-"

"I'm fine," he says, making his way to the kitchen.

I follow him, too many glasses in hand. I hurry to keep up, and on the way I end up dropping two of the glasses, sending them to the floor where they shatter.

"Oh, shit," I curse, setting the rest of them safely on the counter. "Where's the broom…" I look up at Jackson to see that he's frozen, shoulders hunched by his ears, a stack of plates still in his hands. "You okay?" I ask. "They're just glasses, I don't really care about them. I-"

His muscles tighten more, if possible. "I told you I was _fine_ with doing it," he says, his voice louder than before. "I told you that. And you…" He slams the plates down, and I'm surprised they don't break. He raises his arms up to the sides of his head and covers his ears, pressing so hard that his body shakes. "I told you I was fine!" he shouts.

"Jackson…" I say softly, not wanting to spook him.

But my words don't matter. He's not with me in the kitchen anymore, he's gone somewhere else. His eyes are pinched shut tight, he's sweating, and his skin has taken on a pale, pallid tone. "Just keep walking, keep fucking going," he bellows. "If you don't listen to me, I can't save you. I can't… keep going, I said! Listen to me now, or none of this will matter!"

He jumps as if he's reacting from a loud noise, but the kitchen is quiet save for his voice. He crouches in a corner with his knees to his chest, teeth chattering and eyes so wide that it looks painful. I've never seen him look more afraid then he looks right now, but I don't know what to do.

"See, I told you…" he mutters, voice trembling as his back is pressed tight against the cabinets as he tries to get further away from the glass shards. "I told you, I told you… I fucking told you…"

Then, he goes quiet. He closes his eyes and lets out a long breath through his mouth, and when he opens his eyes, he looks at me. Really looks at me, like I'm actually there.

"April," he breathes, and my heart feels like the glass on the floor. I've never heard his voice sound so broken.

I step over the glass and stand over him for a moment, watching him as he watches me. "You're here, aren't you?" he asks. "You're real?"

"I'm real," I say, kneeling down and placing my hands on his knees. "What do you need?"

His eyes turn glassy, then tears drip down his cheeks. He doesn't need to answer for me to know that what he needs is me.

So I curl my small body around his large one, my arms encircling his shoulders as his head is on my chest, and start rocking. He's tense for a moment, then he starts to sob harder than I've ever heard anyone cry. When we were kids, he'd cry once in awhile, but never past 6th grade. So hearing him now as a fully grown man break down in front of me is truly jarring.

"I got you," I whisper. "I got you, I promise."

"I couldn't save them," he hiccups. "I couldn't do anything, I wasn't close enough… they died. They died right in front of me. I saw their faces. And I couldn't do anything."

I run my hand down his arm as I try to stop him from shaking. "Shh," I soothe. "Who?" I ask softly. "Honey, who?"

"Ben," he whispers. "And those kids. I don't know who they were. I don't even know if… I don't know. I don't know, I don't know… he's gone. And I'm here. And I was right there, and-and… and…"

"Shh…" I say again, furrowing my eyebrows together as I continue to sway our bodies. It's no question now that he has PTSD - I was obviously just the audience to a powerful flashback. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, I promise. I'm right here."

He looks up at me, craning his neck so our noses are only centimeters apart. "Don't leave," he says tearfully, voice croaking. "Please don't leave."

I hold him tighter, as tightly as I can, and kiss everywhere that I can reach. The top of his head, his temple, his forehead, lingering between his eyebrows. "I won't," I say. "I got you." We're silent for a moment, the only sounds being his hiccupping sobs and heavy breathing. "I'm right here," I whisper.

He holds me tight around the waist, pulling himself even closer. He buries his head in my chest like a child and weeps against my shirt, his shoulders racking as he does. "I love you," he mutters through his cries.

With my lips pressed to the top of his head, I reply, "And I love you."

An hour or so later, Jackson falls asleep and stay asleep through the night for the first time in what must be a long time. His body is heavy against mine and I'm not comfortable at all, but I won't move. If this is how he needs to sleep, then this is how he'll sleep. At least for tonight.

I'm not so lucky, though. I spend the night with my arms wrapped around him, protecting him from what I can't see. I stroke his hair and drop kisses to his forehead as his eyes stay closed, staying vigilantly awake.

I know we can't go on like this, but I can give him tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

JACKSON

I wake up in the morning, instantly surprised. Not only because I'm using April's chest as a pillow, but because I actually slept.

I blink a few times and take in a deep breath, comforted as I feel her stroking my head, fingertips so gentle I can barely feel them. I'm more well-rested than I've been in months, but I feel guilty because of the price she had to pay for it.

We're still on the kitchen floor, but I can't clearly remember the events that led up to us being here. Last night is there in bits and pieces, but it's nothing I can put together coherently or chronologically. I'm self-conscious of my spotty, selective memory. I know, better than anyone, that's not a good sign.

"You're awake," April says, and her hand goes still.

I pick up my head and look at her face, jarred at how exhausted she appears to be. She has light blue circles under her dull eyes - not shiny like usual. They're dim and half-lidded; she looks deathly tired. Now, I feel even worse.

"Did you sleep at all?" I ask.

She rubs her eyes with the backs of her knuckles and shakes her head. "No," she says. "But you did. And that's what matters."

I press my lips together. "You didn't have to stay," I say.

"I did," she says. "And I wanted to. You needed it."

I sigh and look to the left, where I see a mess of shattered glass. Suddenly, the sound of it breaking pushes into my mind and makes me jump and gasp simultaneously, and I look away from it. But her grip on my shoulder is solid and reassuring, so I let myself melt back against her.

I don't want to be so dependent. But she's the only thing that makes me feel safe.

"Do you remember what happened?" she asks, and I lift my head to meet her eyes.

"A little," I say. "Parts of it."

Palpable sadness shows on her face. "Do you want me to tell you?" she asks.

"I…" I begin, then sit up fully. As I move away, she rolls her shoulders and stretches her neck from side to side, obviously sore from the position she kept all night. "It'll come back later. As the day goes on. You… you don't have to."

She looks at me earnestly, making sure I'm sure. I return the look, and she concedes.

"You have to go to work," I say, standing up and extending my hand. She takes it and stands, too.

"I can call off," she says. "You need me. I can afford to stay home for a day to-"

"No, no, don't do that," I say, and she finds the broom to sweep up the glass mess. "I'm fine here on my own."

She dumps the shards into the trash and gives me a pointed look. "Last night was bad, Jackson," she says. "I don't want anything bad to happen, or for you to have another episode… I don't know."

"I promise I'm fine," I say. "You can call every hour if it'll make you feel better, but I know being at the hospital makes you happy. You should go. Help people. Cut bodies open. Do whatever you do, be a badass. I'll be here in one piece when you get home."

I can tell that she's heavily contemplating, because she's quiet for a long time before she asks, "Are you sure?"

"One-hundred percent," I say.

She eventually gives in and goes upstairs to get ready, and I work on finding breakfast. When she comes back down dressed in jeans and a loose blouse, combing her fingers through her hair, I'm sitting at the table with a bowl of oatmeal. As she breezes by, I can smell her faint perfume.

"That looks good," she says in passing, throwing the words over her shoulder as I take a tentative bite of my hot breakfast.

"Did you get a chance to eat?" I ask, turning around to look at her. She's pulling on a windbreaker with a distracted look on her face. "I bet you're hungry. You should eat, at least it'll give you some energy."

"Don't worry about me," she says, brushing it off. "I pull all-nighters all the time. I'm a surgeon, remember?"

"Still," I say. "Not on a hard floor with 200 pounds on your lap."

She walks closer. "It made me happy to help you," she says, looking into my eyes. "Just give me a bite, and I'll be set."

I smile up at her and lift a spoonful of oatmeal, and she closes her mouth around it like a baby bird. "Mm," she says, licking her lips. "Cinnamon spice. My favorite kind."

"The best kind," I say, and take a bite myself as she zips her coat. Just as she's about to walk away, I scoop up another big bite. "Here, one more," I say. "For the road."

She smiles and turns back to me, ducking her head to take what's on the spoon. "Thanks," she says, and holds my cheek in one hand as she presses a long, deliberate kiss to my forehead that I can't help but lean into. "Have a good day."

"Bye, Angel," I say, smiling to myself as she heads out the door.

As I get up from the table to put my bowl in the sink, a memory from last night gets triggered and it plays before me like a movie. I hold onto the counter when I remember the falling glass that turned into the explosion, the raining gunfire, my fellow soldier and civilians that I couldn't save.

I realize that I'm shaking. I set my bowl down and grip the counter tight with both hands, letting my head drop forward as I take deep breaths. I don't know how I reacted to those memories being forced to recall, but it probably wasn't good.

April was probably terrified. Though she didn't show it this morning, I bet I scared her beyond belief. A bad taste appears in my mouth and my stomach sinks with guilt.

I take a shower to try and rid myself of those feelings, and I take my time. My skin is wrinkly once I get out, and as I hover by the top of the stairs with the towel wrapped around my waist, I hear the sound of someone in the kitchen.

"Hello?" I call out.

"Just me," April calls back, then appears at the bottom of the stairs. "Oh," she says self-consciously, then turns away. "I… I came home early."

"I see that," I say. "What for?"

I ask even though I already know the answer.

"I just didn't have much to do today, I guess," she says. "We were overstaffed." She holds up her pager. "Got this just in case I get called back, though."

"I see," I say, then get changed quickly before heading downstairs. When I get there, she's sitting on the counter and sipping coffee that I half-drank earlier. "Isn't that cold?" I ask.

"Warmed it up in the mic," she says, smiling over the lip of the mug.

We stand there across from each other as an awkward pause passes, then I take in a deep breath. "April, look. I'm not dumb. I know why you came home." I look her dead in the eyes. "You're worried about me. You're freaked out now because of last night. And-"

"I-"

"Wait, let me finish," I say, one palm up. "I just wanna say that… it won't happen again, okay? I know I got out of control. But that was the last thing I wanted, you know. For you to see me like that."

Her facial expressions change so much in the span of a second that I can barely keep track of her emotions. First she looks surprised, then confused, then determined, then something I can't put my finger on.

"I wasn't scared," she says.

I scoff. "Well, you should've been. I probably acted crazy."

She shakes her head slowly. "That… that wasn't crazy, Jackson," she says. "That was PTSD."

I narrow my eyes and squint at her. "What are you talking about?" I say incredulously. "You don't know that. It was a spell, I get them sometimes. They go away. I'm learning how to control them."

"It was a flashback," she says slowly, like she might spook me. I bristle because of her tone. "From your time in the war. Post-traumatic stress disorder. It's a key symptom. It was triggered by a loud noise. And earlier that night, you shut down when Owen brought up the military. Jackson, it's textbook. It's-"

"I'm a human being," I say adamantly. "Not a textbook."

"That's not what I'm saying at all," she says with a sigh. "What I'm saying is… I think you should get help. Talking to a counselor might make you feel better."

"No way," I say sternly, clenching my fists. "I don't need to see a therapist. I'm dealing with it fine on my own."

She sputters, sets the mug down and throws her arms to the side. "You're obviously not," she says.

"Last night was a fluke," I say. "I told you. It won't happen again."

"I'm not worried about it happening again," she says. "Well, I am. But not for the reasons you think. Jackson, I'm not scared of you. I never could be. But this thing… it's torturing you. I can see it on your face. All the time. It never goes away. And… I love you, but I can't fix you."

The words I planned on spitting back fail me as I stare at her, jaw slack. I can barely believe what just came out of her mouth.

"You love me?" I ask, in total disbelief.

"Of course I do," she says, shaking her head a bit.

I wet my lips and feel my face soften as hers does. "Well," I say, trying to find the right words. I end up choosing the simplest ones. "I love you, too."

"I know," she says, looking out the window instead of at my face. "You told me last night."

"Oh," I say, embarrassed that I can't remember. It doesn't help my case, I know that much.

She hops off the counter and leaves the empty mug in the sink. "I'm gonna go to my office for a little bit," she says, sounding defeated. "I should do some paperwork while I'm home. Make a few calls. If you need anything, come get me."

"Okay," I say, watching her back as she leaves. "I will."

I'm sitting on the back porch later as the sun is high in a crystal blue sky, and I can't help but wish that I could capture the look of it somehow. Taking a picture isn't enough. I've been thinking that I should get a hobby of some sort while I still can't work, and wonder about trying my hand at painting.

I get up and go inside, then start searching for art supplies. April has always been crafty, but I can't seem to find paints anywhere. It's been awhile since she started working, so I tell myself that going up to ask one simple question won't be too much of a disturbance. I haven't been in her hair all day for good reason - I don't want her to bring up therapy again, and I don't want us to fight. I just want her to drop the subject, though I know that's unlikely.

When I get to the top of the stairs, I hear her voice just as I'm rounding the corner towards her office. My hand is raised to knock, but I don't lower it as I can't help but eavesdrop on the conversation she's having on the phone. It's not easy to hear what she's saying, but I strain to catch everything.

"No, no," she says, her voice gentle. "It's nothing you did. It's really the opposite, actually. I don't want to sound cliche, but this all has to do with me. I had a great time last weekend, I honestly did. But… I just have a lot of other things going on in my life right now, and it was a mistake to think that I could handle dating." There's a short pause. "I know. I did say that, and I sincerely apologize. This isn't like me… I…" She makes a small, frustrated sound. "I'm going through a lot right now that I need to handle. On my own. I have a lot of things and-and feelings to figure out, and…" She sighs. "I don't want you caught in the middle of that." Another short pause. "Okay? I really wish you the best, Matthew. You're a wonderful person."

My eyes widen as I lean against the wall, and I have more than a few conflicting feelings inside my gut. First is relief, which I know shouldn't be there. I shouldn't be happy that she's ditching this guy, but I can't help it. I am. I hated seeing her with him.

I also really didn't like the way I acted when I saw her with him, but that's a different battle.

I feel guilt, also, for standing here and listening to a conversation she clearly didn't want me privy to. I feel like I'm twelve years old and covering the mouthpiece of the phone so my mom won't hear me on the other line. It wasn't very mature of me - I should've walked away when I heard her on the phone - but I didn't. And now I know. And I have to pretend I don't know, so she doesn't think I'm a total creep listening in on her.

I push aside my need for watercolor paints and slip into my room, shutting the door as quietly as I can. I sit on the armchair that looks out the window and rest my chin in my palms, sighing as I watch the neighborhood outside.

April's words from earlier ring through my mind: _I love you, but I can't fix you._

I don't need to be fixed. Traumatic things happened to me over there, and I just need time to recover. Being a surgeon, she should know better than anyone that time is the best healer. More often than not. I just need time. And I came here, the only place I can call home, to get just that.

I don't want to be stuffed into a therapist's office, talking to some quack I don't know about problems they could never understand. They can pretend that they do, they can even think they do, but they wouldn't. Trying to get them to understand what it feels like overseas would be pointless - I'd be doing more work than they would.

The concept has always been weird to me - sitting across from a stranger and telling them your deeply-rooted problems in hopes that they have some form of a solution. This isn't the first time that I've been asked to get counseling, and it isn't the first time that I've refused.

 _We were 14 years old and in the 10th grade._

 _I was on my bike cruising down the main road, fighting tears. My jaw was clenched and the sun was beating down on my back through my hoodie; it was early fall and the temperature hadn't dropped yet, but I insisted on wearing it._

 _I gripped the handlebars tight as I skidded into the parking lot of the ice cream shop where April worked. I could see her leaning on the counter, red ponytail peeking out of the back of her work visor, writing down someone's order with a smile on her face._

 _I lingered by the picnic tables until she finishing serving the customers, then caught her eye._

 _"Jackson?" she said, moving the sliding window to the side. "What are you doing here? Did you bike all the way here, seriously?"_

 _I sauntered up to the counter, hands shoved into my front hoodie pocket. "Yeah," I answered vaguely._

 _"You okay?" she asked. "I didn't have my shift cone yet. Do you want it?"_

 _I sighed and debated turning it down, but knew in my heart that I really wanted it._

 _"You can have it," she said. "I had so many free samples today." She pats her stomach with a giggle._

 _"Sure," I said._

 _"Okay," she said, whipping out her little notepad. "What'll it be?"_

 _I couldn't help but snicker at her show of things. "M-"_

 _"Wait, don't tell me," she said, and scribbled something down with her pencil. "I already know." She turned the pad to face me, and I saw 'moose tracks' written in her curly handwriting._

 _I nodded._

 _"I knew it!" she said triumphantly. "And know how I knew it?"_

 _I shrugged one shoulder._

 _"You have to ask how," she said pointedly._

 _"How?"_

 _She pointed the eraser end of the pencil at me. "Because you're my best friend, that's how. And I know you like the back of my hand." She made the cone quickly, handed it to me, then continued with, "And that's how I know that something is wrong. So you better cough it up."_

 _I took a bite of the ice cream and she shuddered. She hated it when I bit it._

 _"You're working," I said._

 _"I'm off," she replied, waving at her coworker who just came from the back to relieve her. "See? I'm all yours."_

 _She came around the side and took her visor off, then pulled her hair out of its ponytail. When she did that, I could smell her Herbal Essences shampoo, intensely fruity and floral._

 _"Tell me what's wrong," she said, sitting down next to me at a picnic table. She sat with one leg on either side of the bench so we could face each other, and even though I biked here to seek her out and talk about what was bothering me, suddenly it was hard to get it out._

 _"Or we could just sit," she said, plopping her cheek in her open hand. "That's good, too."_

 _We were silent for a while; she watched the road and I made my ice cream smaller and smaller. Finally, after a significant amount of time had passed, I broke and said it._

 _"My mom wants me to go see some stupid therapist," I grumbled, eyes towards the grass._

 _She picked her head up and placed her hands in front of her. Her chipped pink fingernail polish was in my line of vision. "What?" she said. "Why?"_

 _I lifted my head and we locked eyes. "My stupid dad," I said._

 _"Oh," April replied. "What happened?"_

 _I shrugged and kicked a clod of dirt. "She thinks I'm messed up over it, or something. Him leaving and crap."_

 _"Are you?" she asked curiously._

 _"No," I said defensively. I darted my eyes away, then back to land on her. "Why? Do you think I am, or something?"_

 _"Of course not," she said gently. "You're not messed up. You're my best friend." She giggled to herself. "Or maybe we're just both messed up."_

 _I couldn't help but smile, too. "Weirdo," I muttered._

 _"Would it be so bad?" she asked. "Talking to a counselor?"_

 _"Yes," I answered quickly. "I don't even care about my dad. She thinks I should. I don't know why. It's not like I ever knew him, so how am I supposed to miss him?" I sighed loudly. "I don't know if I'm making any sense."_

 _"Duh, you are," she said. "Your dad sucks. No offense. But you shouldn't have to miss him if you don't want to. Do you even_ want _to miss him?"_

 _I shook my head no._

 _"Then you don't have to," she said. "Your mom was like both a mom and a dad to you. That's pretty cool." She thought for a moment. "Plus, you're so stubborn. You'd probably sit in that counselor's office and stare him down, not even saying a single word!"_

 _We both cracked up laughing, heads thrown back with our eyes pinched shut._

 _"Yeah, the only person I'd ever talk about it with is you," I said. "And if you tell anyone, I'll beat you up."_

 _She rolled her eyes and balled her fist up, shaking it at me. "Like you even could," she said._

 _We both knew that as much as I joked about it, I never would. I'd never hurt her. She was the best thing in my life; I'd never let anything touch her._

 _"Look," she said, chuckling and happy with herself. "I could be your therapist. Time to pay me!"_

I can't imagine telling anyone about what happened to me overseas. Not only because they'd have no hope of understanding, but because dredging it all up again will only make things worse. It'll force me to remember, and that's what triggers the episodes.

I hate feeling out of control of myself, and that's exactly what the flashbacks do. I go into some sort of fugue state - I can't imagine that happening inside a tiny therapist's office. What if I hurt someone? What if I made a total fool of myself, or worse? What if they shipped me off to a psych ward, and I was deemed crazy for the rest of my life?

April would never look at me the same.

I haven't been back in the States for that long. I can't be expected to just heal immediately. After a few months pass, then I'll probably be back to normal. I'll start to feel more like myself again. I tell myself that in hopes that if I believe it, it'll come true. I might not be recognizable right now, but a time will come where I'll be back to my old self. That's how these things work.

Of course, the war changed me, but I just need to get used to regular life again. Once I heal fully, I can get a job. That way, I can get my mind on other things besides the three people who died in front of me, and my quality of life will be better. I won't have those violent flashbacks and need to be rocked to sleep on the kitchen floor every night.

The sad part is that I slept better there, in April's arms, than I do on my perfectly comfortable bed. It makes no sense.

Except that it kind of does. The one factor that makes perfect sense of it all is April. Knowing she was there, knowing she had me and I couldn't succumb to the nightmares, I felt safe.

I shouldn't have to depend on another person for such simple needs, but at this point I can't help it. She's my rock, and I don't know what I'd do without her.

April spends most of the day in her office, and I don't disturb her. I go on a long walk during the afternoon, but avoid the places where we used to hang out. I don't want to go back to them without her by my side, and she was busy. She has a life; one that was going smoothly before I forced my way back into it. I can't bother her for selfish reasons.

When I come back, she's still upstairs so I start on dinner for the both of us. I do the best I can with homemade pizza, and am pretty proud when it's done.

"Dinner's ready," I call up the stairs.

I see her head peek out of the office. "You made dinner?" she asks.

"Hope pizza sounds good," I say with a smile, then turn back towards the kitchen as I hear her descend the stairs.

"You didn't have to do this, Jackson," she says, pulling out a chair. "It looks really good, though."

"I know, it's a miracle," I say, eyes on her as she takes a bite. "How is it?"

"So good," she says, nodding. "Thank you. I had a… weird day, and this is perfect."

I don't need to ask why it was weird, the phone call from earlier is plenty explanation. "Quiet day," I say.

"Yeah, I didn't hear much of you," she says. "What were you doing that was so silent?"

I shrug. "I took a walk," I say. "Did a lot of thinking. I always do a lot of thinking."

Her eyes are warm on me. "That's because you're smart," she says.

"Nah," I say, taking a bite of pizza. It's not bad at all. "Never did measure up to you."

"Psh, whatever," she says, then stands. "Hey, do you want a cider?"

"Sure," I say, and she brings over two bottles of Angry Orchard and cracks them open.

I laugh when I see the label. I haven't seen this brand in years; it's so Michigan. "Remember when we…" I begin, and meet her eyes.

"Stole two of these from your mom's fridge in the garage when we were 15?" she finishes, tipping the bottle. "Of course I do."

"You spit yours out, didn't even like it," I say.

"Ugh," she says. "I thought it was so nasty." She giggles, and her shoulders shake. "You ever think about what a great childhood and like, teenage years we had?"

I let myself get lost in my memories for a second, digging up old ones that I hold close to my heart. "We did have it pretty good," I say.

"Really good," she says, setting the bottle down. "I remember when you broke your ankle chasing the neighbor's dog, but your mom didn't believe you. And I had to take you home from school on my handlebars the next day."

"Oh, god," I say, recalling it. "That foot's still messed up, by the way. Totally my mom's fault."

"She felt so bad!"

We laugh. "I remember being there when you were getting ready for your ballet recital. When we were like, ten. And you set your slippers on the back of the toilet so you could fix your leotard thing, and they fell in."

Her eyes widen. "And I had to dance the recital with those sopping wet slippers, yes!" She shakes her head. "My mom was so mad. She hadn't wanted to buy me those things in the first place. That is so funny that you remember. I forgot about that 'til now."

I chuckle softly. "I remember a lot of things," I say. "A lot of little things. Everything with you just… stuck."

Her gaze is soft and she blinks slowly as she looks at me, a serene smile on her lips.

"What?" I ask.

She shakes her head a little. "Your voice sounds different when you talk about me," she says. "About us, you and me."

I tip my head to one side. "What? No, it doesn't. How?"

She smiles a little wider, still not showing any teeth. "Softer," she says. "Sweeter." She shrugs a bit. "I don't know. I just like it."

"I didn't even notice."

"It's like, you know…" She sighs, trying to piece together her thoughts. "Like, when you were on the football team in high school. And all your teammates had cheerleader girlfriends who they'd act so big and bad for, and well… you had me. Your best friend in the marching band who played clarinet. But you were never ashamed of being seen with me, you always singled me out and said hi to me, you always waited for me after the game was over. It made me feel really special."

"Good thing you are really special," I say. "Were then, and you are now."

"Stop," she says coyly, eyes flashing. Then she sets a hand down on my wrist and pats it once. "I'm just glad you're back. Here, with me."

"Me, too," I say, and we continue to trade memories as we finish our dinner.

Later, when we're both getting ready for bed, there's a question pressing on the forefront of my mind and I don't know how to ask it. Yet another sleepless night doesn't sound like the most alluring thing, and I know that there's only one way I can avoid it. But I don't want to make things weird between us - especially if she were to say no.

I try and think of ways to ask while I linger outside of my bathroom, forehead creased as I lean against the doorjamb. I hear her brushing her teeth, spitting into the sink, and clicking the brush against the porcelain, then she pads back into her room to shut the light off.

But we meet eyes first.

"I…" My words get caught in my throat, and I can't think of what to say that won't sound needy or creepy. I can't do it. I'll just stay in my own room, lie awake all night, and fall asleep tomorrow during Dr. Phil like always.

"Would you wanna, um, sleep in here with me tonight?" she asks, reading my mind. "You don't have to, of course. I'm not asking to be weird. I just noticed that you don't really sleep, and last night-"

"Yeah," I say, smiling. "I do want to."

Her face lights up. "Oh," she says, a little bashfully. "Okay, good. I'll…" She points one arm behind. "I'll be in bed. My bed."

"I'll be right there," I say, and flick off some lights before joining her in her bedroom.

She only has one nightstand, which is fitting for only one person, and the lamp that rests on it is casting a soft yellow light. She's lying down with her wavy, brushed hair splayed over her pillow, and she folds back the covers so I can get in, too.

Her bed is more comfortable than the one in the guest room - more worn in and with better covers. Of course, the fact that she's in this bed makes it better, too.

"Hi," she says quietly, a childlike smile on her face, once I get comfortable lying on my side.

I grin back. "Hey, Angel," I say.

She turns on her side, too, so we're face-to-face. The playful light fades from her eyes and they turn serious, her mouth forming a straight line. I search her expression, looking for something to analyze, but I can't tell what she's thinking.

Slowly, she reaches her hands out and frames my face with them, running her thumbs over my cheekbones as we lie close. "I hope I didn't overstep this morning," she says, inching even closer. Now, I feel one of her ankles between both of mine. Even through her socks, her feet are cold. "But I just want to help." She sighs. Now the tips of our noses are touching. "I can take care of you, but I can't make you better," she finally says.

My eyes flit around her face. I don't know how to respond, so I listen to my body and force the words to the sideline. I watch her eyelashes flutter shut as I angle my head to the side and kiss her softly, my lips melding against hers without any awkwardness or fumbling.

I feel her breath on my skin and her hands on my neck, and my chest feels lighter than it has in a while. I have my best friend, the person I love more than anyone else, right here. I'm kissing her, and she's kissing me back. For at least this moment, I feel complete.

I bury my fingers in her hair and she wraps one arm around my waist, slipping her tongue into my mouth without any hesitation. As she gets closer, I feel her braless chest graze my body and twitch in my pants because of it.

She rolls over onto her back and pulls me along by my triceps, and I follow easily. As she lies there with red lips and a flushed chest, she's never looked more beautiful.

"I wanna turn you on," I murmur, one hand lowered to her thigh.

"So do it," she says, tugging her bottom lip into her mouth.

Her nipples are hard and showing through her light blue t-shirt, and I'm so tempted. As I kiss her again, my hand grazes her left breast and I gauge her reaction. When I move that hand away, she yanks it back into place.

I smile against her lips. She likes it, then.

I squeeze the soft, supple flesh and she moans into my mouth, tightening her grip on my shoulders as she kisses me passionately. I pull away from her lips and she cranes her neck to find me again, but I dip my head into the crook under her jaw and suck on the skin there.

"Mmm…" she moans, hips squirming a bit. She lets out a long, low breath and runs her fingers down my back, then slides them under my shirt to rest on my bare skin.

She massages the muscles in my lower back fluidly, and presses me tighter against her body. I breathe in deeply where I'm situated with my face in her neck, and close my eyes as the way she smells envelops me. For all these years, it hasn't changed. It's just so innately April - not a specific perfume, or shampoo or lotion - just her. There's no other way to describe it.

"Are you sniffing me?" she asks, sounding giggly.

"Mm-hmm," I say, opening my mouth on her throat. I feel her gasp more than I hear it.

"And…" she breathes. "Why's that?"

As my hand slips under the front of her shirt to land on her ribcage, I lift up and say, "Because I love you."

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips until she gives into it, then she pulls me down again with her hands on the back of my neck. She kisses me slowly, mouth open and moving languidly against my own, and makes a content sound when I close my hand around her bare breast under her t-shirt.

"Here," she says, and sits up a little bit to lift her arms above her head. I follow her lead and pull the shirt off, leaving her top half beautifully naked as she lays back down. She looks at me with dark eyes, arms splayed above her head, and says, "I want your mouth on me, Jackson."

After that comment, I'm fully hard. I don't waste time with teasing her - I press a path of kisses from her collarbones down between her breasts, where I can feel her heartbeat thrumming steady and fast. I hold her sides and move to the right breast first, sucking her nipple into my mouth and running my tongue around it and the bumps surrounding.

She moans, back arching so her hips lift from the bed. I smile to myself and gently push them down, then go back to work on her chest.

Her skin is soft and sweet, and I love the way the slight peach fuzz on her stomach feels as I hold her. When her breath starts to come faster and my leg is clenched tight between her thighs, I pull away from her nipple and slowly kiss the outline of it, looking up at her the whole time.

I press slow, wet kisses below her breasts on her raised ribcage, then lower to the soft skin around her bellybutton. I pull small portions of it between my teeth and suck on it, and I feel her fingers dance on the back of my skull as I edge even further down.

Sitting up a little, I gently pull her pajama pants off to expose her pale, thin legs underneath. I coax her thighs apart and feel her watching me as I settle between them, noticing that she's wearing seamless underwear again, but not blue this time. These are orange, patterned with little flowers and lace at the hips.

She gasps and twitches when I open my mouth over the fabric, and I can visibly see the muscles in her lower belly tighten. She whimpers softly, and I take that as a good sign as I soak through the already-damp fabric with my tongue.

"Jackson," she says, as I'm massaging almost her entire thigh with one hand. "Jackson, I… I…" I'm yanked out my aroused trance when she sits up, moving her core away from my mouth. She looks me dead in the eyes when she says, "I don't think this is a good idea."

I can't think straight as she's sitting there topless in her underwear - the underwear that both she and I made wet. My dick is hard and my brain is muddled - blinking hard and shaking my head helps, but not enough. I had one thing on my mind, and that was getting her off, then having amazing sex with her. I wanted her - no, present tense - I _want_ her. So bad.

"It's not smart," she says, reaching over and pulling her t-shirt back on. "I know you know I'm right. You… feeling all that triggers you. I don't want to make you feel like that. I…" She shakes her head. "You know I want you. I want you _so_ bad," she says, turning to rest on one hip so she can face me, hands on my chest. "But not until you're stable. Not until you know that you can handle it and not… freak out, you know."

I take in a deep breath, my mind clearing slowly. "So you're saying, you don't think we should have sex again until I go see a therapist?" I ask.

She looks pensive, chewing on the inside of her lip. "Well, I guess," she says. "Yeah."

I think on it for a long moment; about all the things I went over earlier along with weighing the pros and cons. If I don't go see someone, she won't ever feel completely safe around me. And I know, within my heart of hearts, that she'd be right to feel that way.

It looks like I'm going to therapy.


	7. Chapter 7

APRIL

I wake up in the morning lying on my stomach, my head turned to one side as my arms are tucked under my pillow, wearing my blue t-shirt and orange, flowery underwear.

I take a deep breath and open my eyes slowly, watching Jackson materialize at my side. It's a little bit of a shock to see him lying there - his form all big and masculine - when I'm so used to being in this bed alone. But I like it. It's a nice surprise.

He's still asleep, which is a good thing. The fact that it's still dark outside lets me know that my alarm won't go off for a while, and I have time to lie here next to him.

Last night comes back to me and I'm happy because of it. He agreed to go to counseling, which is a great step in the right direction. Even though he doesn't have much faith in it, I know that it'll do him worlds of good. He won't be so tortured by those memories, he'll have someone constructive he can talk to who can actually help him work through it. A third party. Someone who isn't too close to see things clearly, like me.

As I'm thinking about him, Jackson stirs and rolls over onto his side to face me. I smile softly in his direction though his eyes are still closed, and spend a moment just looking at him.

There are feelings between us that want to rise to the surface, that much is obvious. I broke off what little I had with Matthew because of the way Jackson never seems to leave my mind. We're best friends, that's clear. But we're begging to be more.

I don't want to skirt around the subject. I want to be with him exclusively, I have no doubts about that. But even though I'm pretty sure he feels the same way, on the off chance that he doesn't I don't want to scare him off.

My smile grows when his eyes open. "Good morning," I say quietly, pushing my hair out of my face.

"Morning, Angel," he says, voice gruff. He closes his eyes again and takes in a cleansing breath through his nose, then reopens them to scan down my half-naked body.

"Seems like you slept well," I say, untucking an arm from my pillow to skim over his face. "I woke up to go to the bathroom around 2 and you were dead to the world."

"Mm, yeah," he says, reaching out to run his hand down my back. "I did sleep good. It was nice."

"Have any dreams?" I ask, nestling my cheek into the pillow.

"Don't remember," he says. "Unless I'm in one right now."

"I don't think so," I say, chuckling. "But you better pinch yourself."

He smirks and slides his hand lower to pinch my butt.

"Hey," I say, a laughing tone in my voice. "I said pinch yourself. Not me."

"Hmm, must have misheard," he says, and props himself up on one elbow to take in the sight of me. "God, April. You… mmm."

"What was that?" I ask coyly.

He sits up further and positions himself behind me, one knee on either side of my thighs. I gasp a little bit when he takes two generous handfuls of my ass and squeezes roughly, then snaps the band of my orange underwear after smacking it lightly.

I can't deny that it feels good. His hands on me feel so good.

I press my face into the pillow and lift my hips to meet him, then feel his lips on the small of my back as my shirt rides up. He keeps his hands on my ass though, massaging the muscle slowly and sensually.

The area between my legs is throbbing uncontrollably, and it's driving me crazy.

"Can I ask you something that I've always wondered?" I say, turning my head back.

"Hmm," he answers, hands sneaking beneath the orange fabric to grab my bare skin.

"Why are guys so interested in butt stuff?" I ask. "Like, I'm not just talking about asses in general. Because I can see the appeal, I mean… I like yours. It's cute, but-"

"Yours is better than cute," he says, squeezing it for emphasis. "You have a great ass."

My lips twist into a sly smile as my cheeks heat up. "I-I…" I stammer. "But my _question_ is like… why are guys so eager to try anal sex? Like, isn't it just another hole? Doesn't it feel the same to you?"

He laughs, pressing his forehead between my shoulder blades.

"I'm serious!" I say, but I'm laughing too.

"Why?" he asks. "Would you be into it?"

I flip over so his hands slide out of my underwear, then lie underneath him on my back, eyebrows raised. "You never know," I say, and he opens his mouth to respond until I cut him off. "But here's the thing. You'd have to go first."

His face twists in confusion.

"Oh, yeah," I say, hands flat on his torso. "You have one, too. There's no way you'd get out of it without taking a turn. We'd find something the exact size of your…" My voice breaks off and my eyes glint as I look at him.

"So… big," he says.

"Shut up," I say. "But yeah, sure. Your size. And if you don't like it going into your butt, then I won't like it going into mine."

He rolls off of me and laughs even harder, and I can't help but join him. His happiness is so contagious.

"I never, in a million years, thought we'd ever be talking about something like this," he says, while trying to catch his breath.

I shake my head and lie on my side, pulling myself closer to him. "I know," I say. "Imagine us at like, 15. _Ewww, that's so gross!_ "

"We'd hate it so much," he says, and we continue to giggle as our faces get closer and closer, and once our noses touch, he closes the distance and kisses me slowly.

"You know when we left for college," I say, wrapping one leg around both of his. "After… after we slept together, and it…" I shake my head, trying to find the right words. I want this to come out the way it sounds in my head, though I know that'll be hard. "It was… it seemed like it was waiting to fall into place. Us having sex. Like, it just seemed right. Right?"

He nods and encircles an arm around my waist, slipping it underneath the back of my shirt.

"I…" I bite my lower lip. "I feel like something like that is trying to happen now," I say, meeting his eyes surely. "Between us. I don't wanna just be fooling around with you, Jackson. You've meant so much to me for so many years, and I don't think I can bear to lose you again."

HIs eyebrows furrow a bit. "What are you asking?" he says. "Do you wanna… are you saying you want to date?"

I nod slowly. "I told Matthew it wasn't going to work out. Because…" I sigh. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. I never stop thinking about you."

He grins.

"And if we would've been given the chance, I think this would've happened a whole lot sooner," I say. "I don't want to waste time now."

"Me, neither," he says, and pulls me even closer by the waist. "April, will you be my girlfriend?" he whispers, lips ghosting over mine.

I nod, softly at first and then more vigorously. "Yes," I say, a huge smile breaking onto my face. "Yes, I will."

I get home that night after doing extensive research at the hospital, looking up the best therapists in the area that specialize in PTSD. I walk through the door with a manila folder filled with the top five I could find, and find Jackson in the kitchen cooking dinner.

"Well, look at you," I say, closing the door behind me and kicking off my shoes. "What're you making?"

He smiles at me over his shoulder. "Lemon herb roasted chicken," he says. "And potatoes.

"Wow," I say, setting the folder down at the end of the counter. "I never knew you were such a chef."

"I was watching The Food Network today," he says with a smile. I hop up on the counter and sit next to where he's chopping the potatoes into eighths. "I figured I might as well do something productive with my time."

"This looks very productive," I say, watching him. "Red potatoes, too. My favorite."

He taps the side of his head. "I remember these things."

"Of course you do," I say, nudging him with my foot. "Want me to pour you a glass of wine? I think I'm gonna have one."

"Sure," he says. "Sounds nice."

I slide down from the counter and pour us each a glass, then resume my spot. "So, other than Food Network lessons, how was your today today?" I ask.

"It was alright," he says. "Nothing too special." He chops a few more potatoes and puts them into a pot, then looks at me with a small smile. "How 'bout you? How's my girl?"

I grin a little bashfully. "I'm actually pretty good," I say. "And today, I was busy at the hospital. I was thinking about you, and-"

Jackson raises his eyebrows in my direction. "Thinking about me, huh?" he says. "I knew my ears were ringing for a reason."

"Oh, shut up," I say. "I taught you that."

"And it's come in very handy."

"No," I say. "I was thinking about you, and-"

"Having dirty thoughts at work…" he says, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Stop!" I say, unable to keep myself from smiling as I smack his shoulder. "Let me talk. Stop changing the subject." He gives me a look that tells me to continue. "I was looking into good therapists that specialize in cases like yours. Ones that were reputable and seemed like good people, ones that you'd be comfortable with. I brought home a list, if you wanna look at it."

He glances at the manila folder that I set down. "Maybe after dinner," he says.

"I can read them off to you," I say, reaching for it. "I got some really good ones, I think. Let me read them."

I prattle off a handful of names and their credentials, and Jackson listens intently. Once I'm finished, he thinks it over before he speaks.

"I think I'd be more comfortable talking to a dude," he says.

"Okay," I say, scanning the list. "Then Dr. Fay, Dr. Snow and Dr. Miritello are out. The guys left are Dr. Stolar and Dr. Green, both look really good. They've won awards and stuff, that's cool."

"Won awards for helping out crazy people," he grumbles.

"Hey," I say, eyebrows lowering as I look above the sheet of paper. "Don't say that. Number one, that's a little ableist of you. Number two, I know you're lumping yourself in. You're not crazy, so don't say that. You just need help."

His expression settles into one I can't read, so I look back down at the paper.

"So who sounds better?" I ask. "One is on Westnedge, and the other is in Battle Creek. Which could be difficult, you know, since you don't have a car."

"I'm fine with the one on Westnedge," he says.

"You sure?" I ask. "You don't feel like I picked him for you, do you?"

"I'm fine, April," he says, but his smile his taut. I chalk it up to the fact that he doesn't really want to go in the first place, but I'm glad he's forcing himself. I know he'll realize he feels better after he just tries it once or twice.

"I'll get you set up with my insurance tomorrow, then," I say.

He shakes his head. "You don't have to do that," he says. "I'm already causing enough-"

"If you say 'trouble,' I'm gonna hit you," I say, grinning. "I have a great plan. I'm a surgeon, for god's sake. The entire bill will be covered. Otherwise, they'll rob you blind."

He nods slowly. "Okay," he says, acquiescing.

On the day of Jackson's appointment, I wake up and find him lying next to me with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. I can tell he's been up for a while by the look on his face; it doesn't look sleepy at all.

"You okay?" I ask, voice still raspy.

He looks over at me like I've surprised him. "Yeah," he answers vaguely, then looks upwards again.

I clear my throat and scoot closer, winding an arm around his stomach. "You sure?" I say.

He nods unconvincingly.

I nestle my head against his shoulder and he wraps an arm around me, pulling me close. "You nervous about your appointment?" I say.

I feel him shrug. That's a yes. A very strong yes.

"It'll go fine," I say. "I promise."

He's still quiet. Most likely, he doesn't believe me. I try and think of ways that I can make him feel better, focusing on what makes him feel secure.

I know what that thing is. It's me.

"I'll take the day off today," I say, rubbing his belly underneath his shirt. "I'll go with you. And we can have a day to ourselves after."

"You don't have to do that," he mumbles.

I reach up and run my fingers over his facial hair that's gotten a little too long. "I want to," I say. "I want an excuse to hang out with my boyfriend all day."

I giggle a bit, and a smile sneaks onto his face. That's just what I wanted to see.

"I still don't want you to feel like you have to," he says. "I'm an adult. I can handle this."

"I know you are," I say, kissing his chest over his t-shirt. "But like I said. I can take care of you."

"You have to take care of yourself, too, though," he states.

"I'm low-maintenance," I say lightly, blinking up at him. "I don't need much." I tap his chin with my pointer finger. "What I need the most is for you to feel okay. So really, me going with you today is taking care of us both."

He snorts. "If that made sense to you, then by all means," he says.

When we're in the lobby of the counseling office, Jackson is quiet and reserved. He gave his name and information to the lady behind the desk, but didn't take his arm from the small of my back the entire time. I've come to realize that he's gotten used to me as a sort of security blanket, but I don't mind. If that's what he needs right now, then I'm happy to be that for him.

He keeps a steady hold on my hand while we wait, and I notice his sweaty grip. I caress his knuckles with my thumb to reassure him, but he seems lost in his thoughts. I don't try and pull him out; I just let him be until his name is called.

"You got this," I say, and kiss him on the cheek. "I'll be right here when you come out."

My stomach is in knots when he disappears behind the door, my forehead creased with worry. I don't want him to come out of that room upset and retreated into his head. I hope I'm right in thinking this will help. I know I shouldn't second-guess my instincts as a doctor, but I can't help it when the issue is so personal.

The minutes seem to creep by. The hour must last days, at least. When he finally comes out, I have to resist the urge to throw myself into his arms.

I search his face for some sign that it went well or badly, but can't tell either way. I don't want to press while we're still inside the office, so I wait until we're in the parking lot to take his hand and ask him how it went.

"Good," he says.

"Yeah?" I ask hopefully, eyebrows arching. "Really?"

We get in the car and I turn the keys in the ignition. "Yeah," he says, but he doesn't seem to want to elaborate.

"Are you antsy to get home?" I say. "Because I was hoping you'd wanna go somewhere. I… I wanna take you somewhere."

He looks at me, puzzled. "What are you up to?" he says.

I shrug. "I wanted to surprise you, like something good after your appointment. If you don't wanna go, we definitely don't have to. Just let me know."

He smirks. "Sure," he says. "Take me somewhere."

As we drive, I glance over at him whenever I get the chance to make sure that he's okay. I don't want him to be glossing over what happened inside that office for my sake, because that would be a very typical thing of him to do.

"So… what did you guys talk about?" I ask, knowing that I'm toeing a very thin line.

"It was more of an overview of everything," he says, looking out the window. "He wanted to get to know me. So I told him the basics and stuff. Like how I grew up here, how college didn't work out, that I joined the army and now I'm back with you."

"But you didn't get into the trauma, or anything like that," I say.

"No," he says. "Not yet."

"Well, that's probably normal," I say. "It would be a little overwhelming to dig it all up on the first session before you even know the guy."

"That's what I thought," he says.

"I'm really glad you went," I say, looking over at him meaningfully. "Thank you for doing that. I-I know you don't really like the idea, but…" I sigh. "Just thank you. For listening."

"I'm capable of that sometimes," he says with a grin.

I keep driving until we get to a field, a cornfield to be more specific. I pull off the road and park the car on the shoulder, then look at Jackson with a glint in my eyes.

He looks confused, but interested. "What are we doing here?"

I unbuckle my seatbelt and get out, knowing he'll follow my lead. "I thought we could relive our glory days and go on a walk through the corn."

"Oh, god," he says, chuckling as he comes around to the border of the tall corn to stand by me. "I remember when we used to come here at night."

"This is the one," I say. "Our neighborhood is right over there."

He follows my pointed finger, then looks back to me. "It's crazy how nothing's really changed," he says. "But at the same time, if the kid versions of us saw us now, they wouldn't recognize us." He pauses for a second. "At least me."

I study him for a moment, not knowing how to respond. So instead, I take his hand and nod forward. "Do you want to go in?" I ask.

He nods and we push our way through. "Do you think the clearing's still here?" he asks.

"I guess we'll find out," I say, batting corn stalks away from my face. "This seemed a lot easier when we were younger."

We both laugh at that.

We eventually make it to the clearing after getting lost a few times, where we can finally stop and take a breath. "This wasn't as calming as I'd hoped," I say.

"It's still nice," he says, sitting down with his legs folded.

I stay standing, feeling the sunlight wash over my face and open skin on my body, and close my eyes. It's so quiet and peaceful in the middle of this field, and I'm so happy I'm here with him. That he's here with me. I never thought we'd be back.

"I have something to tell you," I say, sitting down next to him.

He looks at me, interest piqued.

"You know, when we were like 17…" I begin, lying back and using my hands as a pillow. "And we'd come out here all the time. With our flashlights and stuff."

"Of course," he says. "You'd always fall behind, I remember that. You'd have to hold onto my belt loops."

I chuckle. "Such an awkward way to run," I say. "But yeah. Around that time." I look over, my stomach jumping with nerves over the fact that I'm actually going to tell him this. "I was having dreams about you."

He raises his eyebrows. "What do you mean by 'dreams?'" he asks, and by the look on his face I can tell he knows exactly what I mean.

"All the time," I say. "About us, in this cornfield. In this clearing, actually."

"What happened in them?" he asks, meeting my eyes.

"Mostly always the same thing," I say. "We'd find our way here and…" I snort, covering my face, unable to believe I can still remember this after all these years. "You'd get me on my back and we'd make out. Usually, I was topless. That was always a key detail."

His eyes flash. "Well," he says, pushing himself up out of a seated position and crawling over to me. "Looks like you're already on your back."

He straddles my hips with his knees and I giggle softly underneath him, running my hands up his biceps. "How convenient," I say.

He kisses my neck, using one hand to push the hem of my shirt up. "And it's not that hard to…" He supports my back and pulls my shirt off over my head. "Make the topless part happen, either."

The ground is rough and scratchy under my back, but I don't mind. I'm left lying there in my white, low-cut t-shirt bra - one that clips in the front like I always used to wear.

"Does it weird you out that I was having wet dreams about you?" I ask, fingers poised at the clasp.

He shakes his head no, one hand on my breast over the cotton and the other braced beside my head. "Not at all," he says, then laughs. "You think I wasn't having them about you, too? My hormones were going crazy."

"You were?" I ask, baffled. I never would've guessed.

He nods. "It was getting bad."

"Mine were, too."

"God," he says, kissing down my chest. "We were so horny for each other."

"We waited so long to do anything about it," I say, adjusting my hips.

"Good thing we don't have to now," he says, one hand flat on my stomach and the other one expertly undoing the clip of my bra so it falls to either side of my chest. "Now they can be more than just dreams."

My eyes roll back in my head as he closes his mouth over one of my nipples, and a long sigh escapes me. He sucks it between his teeth and runs his tongue over the hardened bud, and my back curves off of the flattened corn up towards his body. He slides one hand down my bare torso, pinching my waist softly when he gets to the band of my jeans, and I press my lips together to sigh softly.

"Were the dreams a little bit like this?" he asks, sucking on the swell of my breast before releasing it with a wet pop. I know that'll leave behind a hickey, but I don't care.

"A lot like this," I say, running my hand over the back of his head. He lifts up and kisses my lips, running his tongue along the seam of them before I open up and let it slip inside.

As his face angles against mine and he kisses me, his hand sneaks down the front of my jeans to rest between my legs, over my underwear. His hand covers me completely, and I squeeze my thighs together as his palm starts to move - rubbing me slowly and sensually as his lips are still attached to mine.

He presses two fingers against me deliberately, and I gasp as they start to move in circles. My thighs go slack and fall open, my pelvis straining against his working hand, and just as I'm about to come, the sound of a car zooming by dangerously close interrupts us.

"Shit," I say breathlessly, sitting up. My chest is heaving as I pant, and my hair is a tangled mess atop my head.

We make quick eye contact, then break out in goofy smiles.

"Let's take this home," he says, handing me my bra.

I pull on my shirt as we stand, and take his hand while we find our way out of the corn. When I get back in the driver's seat, Jackson plants a firm hand on my thigh after buckling in and keeps it there the whole way home. The proximity definitely doesn't help with what's still throbbing, waiting and wanting from what almost happened. I use all the willpower I have not to go over the speed limit heading back to the house.

We find each other again not long after kicking our shoes off, and I ask myself for a brief moment if I should be allowing this to happen. He only just had his first therapy appointment - should I be giving in this easily? Is doing it so fast letting him off the hook; should I wait to see some progress first?

I can't think straight enough to come up with a response. His lips are everywhere on me, and I haven't wanted something this bad in a long time.

He walks us backwards until the small of my back hits the counter, and I whimper a little bit from the impact and grip the sides of his face. I feel his hands on my waist, slipping under my shirt, as he kisses me fast and hard. He wants this badly, too. It's not hard to figure out.

There's a magnetic pull between us that we can't fight. It's useless.

"Upstairs," I say, mouth moving against his.

His eyes glisten as we pull apart, then his hands move lower to my ass to get a good grip and lift me up. I squeal a bit, leaning forward into him so he can carry me up the stairs and deposit me on the bed with a soft bounce.

I giggle and smile up at him, hair fanned out around my head, watching as he lingers by the gold button of my jeans.

"Where was I…" he says under his breath, and undoes the button and the zipper. He slides it down incredibly slowly, so slowly that I can practically hear every tooth separate as he pulls. When the jeans come off, so do my underwear, and I'm left in just my t-shirt and bra. But that soon changes as I strip those off, wanting to be as naked as possible in front of him.

"Mm, god," he groans, taking sections of my thighs in his teeth. When he releases them, he pulls them apart and keeps his hands on the insides of my knees, then look up at me with a hungry smile on his face. "You want me to eat you out?" he asks, voice smooth.

I nod shakily, one fingernail in my mouth as I look down at him. There's no way I could forget how good he is - our time on the couch a few weeks ago hasn't left my mind.

He presses slow, open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin of my inner thighs, near the pocket of the bone before my center. I can feel his breath on me and it's absolutely torturous.

"Say it," he says.

"I want you to eat me out, Jackson," I say, practically purring. "I need it."

One eyebrow twitches as he smirks my way. "Whatever you say," he says, and gently kisses between my legs, taking his time finding his way inside. I lose my breath once his mouth opens and the heat envelops me, my neck arching as I cover my face with my hands.

But I feel his hands on my wrists, pulling them away. "I want to be able to see your face," he says. "When I make you come."

I never knew another person could make me feel like this. My breath comes in ragged gusts as I watch him work his magic, and he closes his eyes at one point as he gets lost in what he's doing. When his fingers join his tongue, I can't help the moan that tumbles from my mouth.

He runs his tongue up the length of me while his fingers move at a steady rhythm, and my hips try and match it. I keep my hands on the back of his head, pushing down slightly, then one of his hands sneaks beneath his body to the front of his pants and starts to move in the same way.

"Are you…" I breathe, unable to finish.

"You don't know what you do to me," he says, lips moving against my hot skin. "It can't wait."

"Come up here," I say, scooting up to rest my back against the headboard. "I'll get you off."

He looks confused for a moment. "But I was-"

I shake my head and pull him up by his shoulders so he's next to me, then shove his pants down his hips until his erection springs free, glistening at the head. Without using words, I tuck his hand between my legs and wrap my fingers around his shaft, locking eyes as we start to move at the same pace.

"Fuck," he moans, his voice strained as he bites hard on his lower lip. He's concentrated so heavily on my face, and I love it.

Without breaking from his gaze, I lift my palm and lick it slowly, then return to what I was doing. My grip goes slack as his fingers push deeper, and my eyelashes flutter from the feeling.

"Oh…" I whimper. "Just like that. Please, more like... Oh, my god..."

"Yeah, you like that?" he breathes, edging closer.

"I like that," I whisper, eyes closing as my head falls back.

I feel his mouth on my neck as I come, and do my best to keep pumping him so he can go, too. I lean forward with his hand sandwiched tight between my thighs, and close my mouth around him while my hips are still twitching and my insides are still clenching and unclenching from the orgasm he gave me.

Right after he comes, he pulls me up to kiss me long and hard. I lose myself in the way he worships me, hands ghosting over every open inch of my body like he's trying to get to know me by heart all over again. In all my life, I've never felt so present. So loved.

He combs his fingers through my hair as I bend to kiss his neck, loving the way the sweat tastes on his skin. I open my mouth wide and flatten my tongue over his throat, pushing myself up onto all fours to get him on his back. I skim my tongue lower to his chest and feel his hands first on my back, then lower on my ass, where he grips so tight that his fingernails dig in.

It sends a sharp jolt of pain up my spine, but I like it.

When he's hard again, he gets me on my back and positions himself over me. With his forehead resting against the hard space between my breasts, he breathes, "I've been thinking about this for so long."

"So have I," I say, running my fingers over the back of his neck softly. "Can you get a condom? They're in the lower cabinet in the bathroom."

He hurries off and I watch him as he goes, then notice he's gone for a questionable amount of time.

"Can you not find them?" I call.

He peeks out of the bathroom a moment later, a mischievous look on his face. "I found something," he says. "And I'm very curious about it."

I scrunch up my eyebrows. "What are you talking about?" I ask, lying there with my hands resting on my stomach and my knees pressed together.

He comes out with something behind his back, then sits down on the edge of the bed before revealing it to me. He's practically exploding when he pulls it out from behind his back, and when I see what he has I want to melt into the mattress and never come back out. Ever.

"I never knew you were into this kind of stuff," he says, beaming.

I cover my face with my hands. "I'm not," I say.

I can hear him turning it this way and that in his hands. "The fact that it was in your cabinet fully charged begs to differ," he says, sounding so pleased with himself.

I peek out from between my fingers and see him still staring at the thing - the nine-inch long, half-pink and half-white sex toy with ridges on the top half that look like weird flower petals.

"It's not mine," I say, voice small.

"That makes it weirder, you should know," he says.

"No," I sigh. "I mean, well, it's technically mine. But it was a gift. From Amelia, who thought it was super hilarious. Two birthdays ago."

He's still looking at it. He can't seem to stop. "The Lelo Iris," he says, reading, then looks up to meet my eyes. "You're saying you never tried this?"

"I'm not telling you," I say, turning my head to one side.

He chuckles and crawls over me, the thing still in one hand. "Come on," he says.

I turn my head back and my nose bumps against his softly. "No," I say stubbornly.

With his lips moving over my jaw, he says, "I'll tell you a secret if you tell me."

I raise my eyebrows, interest piqued. "Oh, really?" He nods. "I could just make something up."

"You won't," he says.

"You never know," I say, resting one arm above me on the pillow.

"My therapist wanted me to tell you," he says, moving hair away from my face. "I didn't just hurt my knee over there. One of my ears got it, too. I can't hear very well out of my left ear. He… he thought it'd be healthy if you knew. I would've told you before, but it's hard to fit into conversation. But… now you know."

I take a second to study his face, then trace his eyebrows with my pointer fingers. I turn his head so my lips are pressed against his right ear, the working one, and whisper, "I've used it." I hear him swallow. "Once."

"Yeah?" he breathes, pulling away to look at me.

I nod. "Mm-hmm. But it didn't do much for me."

He flicks it on, and the buzzing sound it makes is understated and barely-there. "Let's see what I can do to change that," he says, slinking lower.

I gasp when it touches me, and Jackson's hand tightens on my ribcage as he pushes it in further. It's big, and even though he's going slow I feel like it's stretching me. The feeling isn't exactly bad, but it's one I have to get used to paired with the vibrating.

"Oh, god," I moan softly, my voice high in pitch.

"Jesus, you're sexy," he says, pressing kisses low on my stomach as he pumps the machine slow at first. "Does that feel good?"

"It feels…" I breathe, but lose my words. "God… it feels…"

My eyes roll back in my head as he angles it up a bit, and it buzzes against the sensitive nerves.

"There!" I shriek, spreading my legs wide.

He touches it to that spot again, and my breath comes quicker - my stomach pushing in and out with every ragged inhale and exhale I take. He pulls it away and I squirm until he puts it back, pumping it rhythmically against that spot until I'm so close to my orgasm I can practically taste it.

But just as I'm about to let myself go, he pulls the thing out, switches it off and casts it to the side. In one swift motion, he's inside me and has taken its place. He's thicker than the machine was but not quite as long, but I don't care.

"I know I don't vibrate," he says, snapping his hips. "But I was getting jealous of that thing."

"With good reason," I pant, overcome with how much I'm feeling as he thrusts inside of me. "How'd you know how… how'd you work it so good?"

He opens his mouth on my neck, sucking on the skin until I whimper. "Because I know you," he says. "And I know what your body likes." He chuckles darkly. "Your body happens to love clit stimulation."

Though we're in the heat of sex and he's currently inside me, his words still make me blush. I don't know exactly how to respond, so I decide not to and let the way I'm feeling take over.

He comes first, and I wrap my arms tight around his back as the rhythm of his hips changes and quickens. I throw my head back as he spills inside of me, and press my lips tight together when I feel his fingers do what he knows I love. It doesn't take me long to come, too.

I'm spent by the time he rolls off, completely sure that I'm not capable of feeling another thing. I lie there with one arm tossed over my eyes, then reach the other one out for him. I grip his wrist and hold tight, asking, "You okay?"

I pull my arm off to look at him. His chest is heaving too, and shiny with sweat. God, he's beautiful.

"How do you feel?" I press.

"I feel amazing," he answers quietly.

I'm not sure if that's the truth. I hope it is, but he might be covering. I know picking at the subject will only make it worse, so I leave it alone. He's a grown man. He doesn't need me babying him.

"Out of the other guys you've been with," Jackson says, piping up again. "Where do I rank?"

I look over and swat him on the chest. The pleased smile on his face tells me he already knows my answer. "Dead last," I say, messing with him.

"Oh, sure," he says.

"I'd never let anyone else touch me with that thing," I say, nodding towards the Lelo Iris as I roll onto my side, one arm resting on his stomach.

"Thank god I'm me, then," he says, bending his neck to look at my face. "Because your face when you-"

Interrupting him, the sound of the doorbell reverberates through my house and I furrow my eyebrows because of it.

"Who's that?" he asks, jumping at the sound.

I flatten my hand on his chest as leverage to sit up, then pull my robe on from where it hangs on a poster of my bed. "I'll go look," I say, tying the belt as I walk out of my bedroom to glance down to the front window. Standing there are my mom and my three sisters with dishes in their hands, waiting for me to let them in. As I look at them, I remember that we'd scheduled a dinner for tonight weeks ago, and I'd forgotten.

Shit.

I look back in at Jackson, who's still lying there gorgeously naked. "It's my mom and sisters," I say. "They're here for dinner."


	8. Chapter 8

JACKSON

I see April pause just outside her bedroom door, one hand braced on the stair railing and the other flat on her stomach. When she turns to look at me, the expression on her face is anything but pleasantly surprised.

"Who is it?" I ask, sitting up and pulling the sheet to cover myself.

Her eyes are wide. "My mom and sisters," she says, leaning forward a little.

"What?" I say, surprised. "Why?"

"I… I…" she stammers. "I invited them over for dinner tonight a few weeks ago. I totally forgot. I… oh, my god. I can't send them away, they won't talk to me for weeks. And they'll totally gossip behind my back and make up some nasty shit about me." She sighs. "I'm sorry. I know I'm springing this on you. I feel really bad."

"No, it's fine," I say. "It's your family. Nothing I haven't handled before."

She raises her eyebrows and chuckles a little, taking a few lingering steps towards the top of the stairs. "I'll go tell them I need a minute," she says. "Then… I guess I'll come back up and find something presentable to put on."

She descends the stairs and I hear the door open and the muted sound of voices, but I can't specifically hear what's being said. The rise and fall of April's tone is the easiest to pick out because it's the most familiar, and she does the most talking before the door shuts again and I feel more than hear a group of footsteps enter the house.

When April reappears in the doorway, she looks fed up already.

"Well, they're downstairs," she says, untying the robe and making her way into the closet. "I told them you're here, by the way. So prepare yourself."

"What'd they say?" I ask, getting up.

I don't miss her eyes as they graze down my entire body, and she pauses for a moment before speaking again. "I…" She takes in a deep breath, assumably clearing her thoughts. "They're surprised. No shock there. My sisters had plenty to say about my state of dress and the fact that you were upstairs, so…" Her eyes widen for emphasis. "They know."

"They know," I repeat.

"Uh-huh," she says, dropping her robe as she stands in front of her closet.

Now I'm the one staring.

"I'm gonna go find something to put on," I say, pointing my thumb towards the guest bedroom. "I'll see you downstairs."

My head is cloudy as I rifle through my folded clothes, trying to find something suitable. My body feels amazing because of what April and I just did, but I was hoping for a longer comedown period than what we were given. I wanted a little time to just be there and lay with her in my arms, soaking it all up. Rushing out of bed to greet her family isn't exactly what I was hoping for.

I eventually gain enough clarity to put on a pair of jeans and a nice shirt, then head downstairs where I hear April already talking with her sisters.

"I'm not saying I forgot we had plans," she says, her tone snappy. "I just forgot they were so early."

"Dinner plans around dinnertime didn't make sense to you?" one of them shoots back.

"Okay, that was uncalled for," April says. "We'll figure out something, I don't know. I can cook up something fast."

"Well, don't rush on our account," someone else says. I can practically hear the eyeroll.

"Yeah, not like we're special or anything."

"Not special enough to get a slot in her busy schedule, apparently. She's too busy bedding that man of hers."

"Well, it's about time for the two of them, don't you think?"

"Would you guys shut up?" April says. "Seriously, you have no idea what you're talking about. So just stop."

The last thing I want to do is go in there and be the center of attention. I can't think of anything worse, yet I know I have to do it. So I take a deep breath, steel myself, and close my eyes for a moment before stepping into the kitchen with a fake smile plastered on my face.

"Oh my gosh, you can't be serious. It really is you. Jackson freakin' Avery."

I look over to who's spoken and am pretty sure that it's Kimmie, but a long time has passed and the three of them look so similar. All four used to get mixed up in school, but to me April could never be lumped in with them. She'd stick out in a sea of a million redheads.

"Yep," I say. "It's me."

Suddenly, Karen storms me and wraps her arms around my waist in a tight hug. Her hair smells like some sort of strong perfume, and she caught me totally off guard. My arms go stiff at my sides and before much more time can pass, April is ushering her mom off as she starts to talk.

"It's been so long!" she gushes. "I never thought I'd see you again. Oh my, how you've changed." She shakes April's hands off of her and takes my wrists. "You're not the little boy we once knew anymore, are you?"

"No, mom, he's not," April says, obviously reading my body language. "And he's uncomfortable with all the touching. So can you not?"

"He can speak for himself," Karen says. "Leave it, April. I haven't seen him in years; I watched this one grow up. I'm allowed to fawn over him." She presses her hand to the side of my face and I do all I can not to flinch away. "I heard about your mother, honey. I'm so sorry."

I pinch my lips slightly and nod, not really knowing how to respond.

"Mom," April says, teeth gritted.

"Leave her alone, Duckie," the oldest one, Libby, says. "You don't own him." Then Libby looks up at me, expression changing from scolding to open. "I can't believe you're back, Jackson," she says. "And apparently sleeping with my little sister."

My mouth goes dry.

"Libby," Karen says, warning under her breath.

"Before marriage, no less," Kimmie chimes in, giggling humorlessly. "I wonder what Daddy would say."

April's face twists and she takes in a deep breath. "I'm a grown woman," she says, voice low and stern. "I make good choices in life. I respect myself and my body, and just because-"

"But your faith?" Alice pipes up. "Do you respect that?"

"Maybe you should pray about it," Libby says.

"Oh, my god," April says, turning away and massaging her temples. "You have to be kidding me. I seriously just let you guys in the door, and you're attacking me. And him. I… I have half a mind to kick you out."

"April, please," Karen says. "It would do you some good to pray about it."

"Oh, my god!" April exclaims. "You, too. I can't… you know what… I can't do this. If you guys are gonna be like this around him, I can't do this."

"Fine, fine, fine," Kimmie says. "Stop being so sensitive. We can agree to disagree."

"Well, we all know who we'll see in heaven and who we won't," Alice says snidely.

"Honestly, Alice?" April jeers. "If we're getting into that, you-"

I clear my throat. "Why don't April and I figure out dinner in the kitchen, and get you guys some wine to sit out on the porch with?"

They all look at me like I've grown a second head, staring dumbfounded for a moment before responding. But finally, Karen does. "That sounds lovely, Jackson."

"It does," April says, sounding relieved as she lays a hand on my bicep. I meet her eyes and she mouths, _thank you_.

I smile in return.

When the four toxic Kepners are outside, a wave of calm washes over the kitchen as I walk in on my favorite Kepner opening the oven. I've just come back from delivering everyone their wine and being forced to submerse myself in their chatter about how much I've grown up yet still somehow look the same. I had no idea how to respond, so the sooner I got out of there, the better.

As April's doubled in half looking inside the oven, I come up behind her and press my hips to her ass and wind my arms around her stomach. She gasps and giggles, then stands up straight to press her back against me.

"What do you think you're doing?" she purrs, turning her head and trailing her fingertips over my wrists. "If my mom or sisters see us…"

"They'll what?" I murmur, lips in her hair. "Send you to hell?"

She snorts. "Probably."

I move her hair behind her shoulder and press my lips to her neck, slowly parting them to run my tongue over her skin. She tips her head to one side and lets out a soft moan, relaxing against me as I hold her. My fingers spread out wide on her stomach and I pull her even closer in one swift motion, stealing the breath from her as I do so.

"I love you…" I murmur, turning my face to kiss her bare shoulder, covered only by the strap of her dark green dress. I slide one of my hands up from her stomach to one of her breasts, where I get a good handful and squeeze roughly, holding on tight.

She chuckles low in her throat. "Jackson…" she says, voice lilting. "You're horny."

I slip the hand that isn't on her chest lower, pushing aside the skirt of her dress as I go under it and trace my fingers along the damp crotch of her panties. "So are you…" I whisper.

"Mmm-"

The words get stolen from April's mouth as the slider door bangs open and Alice's tinny voice rings throughout the kitchen. "April!" she gasps.

I pull my hands away from April as if she's made of fire and step back, eyes on the floor. I feel like I've been caught doing something illegal, and the way my heart is banging inside my chest is making me feel like my knees could give out and I might topple over at any given second.

"Alice," April growls, stomping over to her youngest sister. I don't look up at them - I can't. I keep my hands braced on the kitchen counter and stare at it, counting the color changes in the granite. It's something small I can focus on, something I can do to keep my brain from derailing. "You won't say a _word_."

"I don't have to," Alice says smugly. "Jesus saw it all."

"Listen to me," April says through her teeth. "I've finally found the person in my life who makes me happy. And you will not ruin this."

"Eternal damnation really puts a damper on things though, doesn't it?" Alice jeers.

"Since when did you become so pious?" April spits. "You're no better than anyone else here."

"Says the sinner," Alice says. "Mom and Daddy will find out for themselves when you don't join us in heaven." I hear her footsteps near me, and she brushes my arm as she passes to the sink. "I came in for a wine refill. Hope that's okay with you, Jackson."

"Don't talk to him," April says, stomping over and yanking the cork off the wine. "Take it. Take the whole thing. Just… just get out of here."

When we're alone again, I pick my head up. April's face is tomato-red, and she's shaking.

"I'm sorry," she says, voice trembling. "They've gotten so horrible."

I shake my head, quick to write it off. Quick to try and forget it. "It's fine," I say. "Water off my back."

"No, it's not fine," April says. "I know when you're not fine. Okay? I know. And you need to know that none of those things she said are true." My eyes wander away from hers, but she holds onto my face and forces them back. "Jackson, please. Look at me. Listen." I center my gaze on her green eyes, those pretty green eyes I've known almost my whole life. "I love you. I love you more than anything. Don't let them diminish that. You can't listen to it. I'm not like them. Okay?"

I nod shakily at first, then stronger. "Okay," I say, and wrap my arms around her tightly. "I love you, too."

When we're all seated around the table, my efforts in keeping my head low aren't working. The only thing that the Kepners seem to want to talk about is me.

"So you disappeared off to the army for what, fifteen years?" Kimmie says, stabbing her salad aggressively. "I didn't know they kept people for that long."

"No, not fifteen years," I say.

"But it's been fifteen years since we saw you. It would only make sense," Libby says.

"I went to college, I… I took care of my mom. Then after all that, that's when I went. I wasn't over there for the entire time I wasn't here."

"Right," Karen says, keeping the conversation afloat. "And where did you say you were located? I just know Joe's going to ask. He always wants details."

"Maybe if he's so interested in details, he should've come tonight," April mutters.

"We had no idea Jackson would be here," Karen replies. "You forgot to mention that little detail. I'm sure he'd be here, had he known. So, tell me Jackson. What kinds of things did you get into over there?"

My throat constricts and I wipe my hands on the thighs of my jeans. I can feel my heartbeat speed up as thoughts of the Middle East cloud my mind and beg to come to the forefront of my memory. I try and force them back - I don't want to broach this subject. I wish she would've never asked. This is exactly what I've been trying to avoid.

"He helped people," April says, noticing the beat of silence where my answer should've been.

I swallow, gripping my knees under the table. "No, I didn't," I say. The only image in my mind is that of the three dead bodies in front of me, blown to bits by the car bomb that should've taken me, too. I can still feel the heat on my skin, the rocks digging into the soft pads of my palms, the dull throbbing on the side of my head. When I close my eyes, I'm there again. I'm there again, letting them die in front of me.

I feel the energy change as they react to what I've said. "What do you mean?" Karen asks. "I'm sure you did."

I shake my head firmly, staring down at my almost-full plate of food. I don't answer with words; that's all I can give them.

I jump when April touches me, but she keeps her hand between my shoulder blades and rubs my back soothingly. I glance at her and know from one look that she's worried, and I feel guilty about it. I shouldn't let myself act like this around her family. It's embarrassing and awkward for everyone.

So I try and tug myself out of my head. I lift my gaze back up and see five pairs of green eyes looking at me with worry, and know I have to get my act together.

I clear my throat. "I did a lot of different things over there," I say. "When I went, I felt like I really found my niche."

"That's lovely," Karen says. "I'm glad to hear you say that. Because I've read a few articles in different magazines that all talk about the horrible effects that soldiers can come back with. It's almost like they're different people. They come back to their families, and their wives and children are expecting one thing and get something totally opposite. It's scary, really. And quite sad. And we were just watching the news the other night and saw a commercial for a new movie… what's it called? I can't remember now."

"I think it was 'Thank You For Your Service,'" Alice says.

"Yes! That was it. It was a new movie about a soldier who comes back with this awful case of PTSD. He has a wife and kids and I think even a new baby… and he just couldn't get his mind off the war. He'd have flashbacks all the time, at least that's what I got from the commercial." She pauses for a moment. "I don't know, that movie just came to mind as I thought about you."

I purse my lips and let out a long breath. I try to extract myself from what she's saying, but it's nearly impossible.

"It was interesting to me. How they, or… I don't know, you, maybe… come back so battered. You look fine on the surface, so it's baffling to me how you could be so torn up inside. It doesn't seem right, it doesn't make sense," Karen continues.

"Mom, can you just leave it alone?" April asks, her tone on edge.

"I don't mean to be disrespectful," Karen says, and suddenly the sound of everyone's silverware clinking against their ceramic plates is so loud that I flinch. I've zeroed in on all the noises in the room and I feel cornered on all sides. "I'm just confused by it, that's all. Some soldiers come back with their legs missing, an arm, or scars all over their bodies. And then others come back looking just fine, yet somehow are more affected than the ones who literally gave their body parts for the safety of others. It just doesn't make sense."

April tenses. "You're being really insensitive right now," she says. "I need you to stop talking."

"I just think it takes a lot of gall, that's all," Karen says, ignoring her middle daughter. "For someone with PTSD to think they have it worse than someone who can't walk anymore because they were defending their country. It doesn't add up."

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard that I taste blood. I start bouncing my knee and disappear from the table conversation, transported to a place much hotter and drier. There's no saliva in my mouth because I can't make any - the sand and whipping wind take that ability away. I'm passing by the spot that I know will blow up, but I don't say anything to Ben. My mouth is clamped shut, my jaw soldered together. The kids - the little girl and her infant brother - are staring at me with wide, dark eyes as the skin melts off their body and pools next to their skeletons. Ben's blood mixes with theirs and trickles down the sand, finding its way to me where I'm lying in the aftermath of the blast, getting soaked with sticky, warm blood that doesn't belong to me. It should belong to me. I should've gone. I should've saved the three of them from the bomb and let it take me instead.

"Jackson," I hear April say, her voice sounding urgent. "Jackson, I'm right here."

I shake my head slightly and look to her. Her eyes are watering and her chin is trembling, and everyone else's eyes are on me, too. But they're more curious than anything, wondering where I just went. But April has a better guess than anyone.

I realize that I'm sweating and it's hard for me to breathe. I get up from the table without so much as a word in their direction, and head to the kitchen where I can get water instead of the wine that was by my plate. I open the cupboard door and with shaky hands, grab a glass only to have it topple down to the tile and shatter, just like before.

I take a few steps away and the small of my back hits the counter before I sink to the floor, knees to my chest. I stare at the mess I've made and hear footsteps rushing in, then see April standing in the entryway looking upset. She takes one look at me and turns back around, and I can't hear what she says exactly but her voice raises in pitch and grows commanding. The sound of chairs being pushed out follows, then a long silence before she shows herself in the kitchen again.

"They're gone," she says. "I asked them to leave."

I look up at her, my neck creaking. She has one hand outstretched, open for me.

"Let's go sit down on the couch," she says. "It's quiet out there, and more comfortable. Come on." Her voice is encouraging and non-assuming, like she's trying not to spook me.

I take her hand, small in my grip, and follow her to the front living room. She sits down and motions for me to lay, so I use her thigh as a pillow and melt against her when I feel her fingers trail over my head and over my good ear.

"I'm so sorry," she says. "I didn't expect them to be great, but I didn't think the night would turn out like this. I wish there was more I could do than say I'm sorry… but I'm just sorry. You won't have to deal with them again."

I'm quiet as I take in her words. I don't know what I can say.

"Did you… you went back there, didn't you?" she asks, after not speaking for a moment. "In your head. When Mom started talking about it, it sent you back."

I nod slowly, cheek moving against the fabric of her dress.

She sighs, sounding defeated and sad as she bends in half to kiss my temple. "I've got you now," she says. "You stay right here with me."

We spend a while on the couch, not exchanging any conversation. I try and center my thoughts back, and I'm not sure what's going on in her head.

When she speaks up again, her voice is teary. Without turning to look at her face, I know she's crying. "When you told me about your ear, I didn't say enough," she says. "You must have felt like I was writing you off. I wasn't, Jackson. I promise, I wasn't. I should've responded more, told you how much it meant to me that you told me. Because it did. I do want to know everything. And I made it seem like it was nothing."

I furrow my eyebrows as I open my mouth to speak. At first, my voice breaks so I clear my throat to strengthen it. "I didn't feel like that," I say, which is the truth. Talking about my ear makes it all the more real, so the fact that she didn't make a big deal of it was important to me. "I didn't want you to go on about it. The way you reacted was perfect. I just… I just wanted you to know."

"Are you sure?" she says, hand on my shoulder. "I never want you to feel like I don't care about what you have to say."

"I don't," I say.

"Okay," she says softly. "Good. And… Jackson…" She sighs. "Is having sex really a good idea, do you think?"

I turn over, the back of my head resting on her leg so I can look at her. With my forehead creased, I ask, "What do you mean?"

"All those feelings," she continues. "Don't they upset you? Didn't it make tonight worse, wasn't that what started it? Doesn't it make you feel unstable?"

I shake my head slightly, confused at where she's pulling this from. "No," I say. "Not at all. Not… no, April." I blink my eyes and center on her face. "Sex with you… is…" I try and search my mind for the right words, sure I won't be able to come up with ones that voice my thoughts correctly. "It makes me feel like I'm here. Like I'm grounded right where I'm supposed to be, like I'm participating in the life that you are. The only time that I really feel like myself is when I'm with you." One tear falls down her cheek, and I reach up to catch it. "You make me feel good. You make me feel like I used to."

She nods and looks up at the ceiling to prevent more tears from falling, but it doesn't do much good. We don't talk after that, she just rests a flat hand on my forehead and strokes my skin as she cries.

April falls asleep, and I get up as gently as I can so I won't disturb her. I turn back from where I stand at the entrance of the room and smile softly, looking at the way her head is rested back on the cushion and her hands are limp in her lap. She's the picture of vulnerability and trust. She's sleeping soundly, wide open, knowing nothing will hurt her.

I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

I walk through the kitchen to the screen door that I pull open to sit on the back porch alone. There's no one on the golf course and it's completely silent - it's around 8, which means everyone is inside spending time with their families. I like it best this way, the silence. It's calming.

I know April feels guilty for giving in with sex, though she shouldn't. It was amazing, she was amazing, and it made me feel normal. For just that one second, I could hold us there and keep it. That normalcy. We were just a normal couple doing what couples do. Having sex, being together, pleasing each other, making the other happy.

But I could see it in her eyes - the guilt - and I can understand where she's coming from.

 _We were eleven. It was fall - a year after I moved to the neighborhood, and April and I were solidified as best friends. It was a known fact to everyone, and we were never seen apart. If we were, there was something wrong. We were a packaged deal; two peas in a pod, a dynamic duo, the wonder twins._

 _April's dad, Joe, had just finished fixing up the treehouse in my backyard. It had been left there by the people who lived there before us, but it had been too dilapidated to use. April and I had begged him the whole summer to do something about it, and when he finally did, it was amazing. To us, it was a palace. Our very own personal getaway that no one else was allowed into._

 _We thought that at first, until Joe said that since he was the one who fixed it, he made the rules. And his rule was that no one could be excluded from the treehouse, or else it was off limits to everyone. And Karen's rule was that no other boy besides me was to ever be up there with one of her girls._

 _But she trusted me, of course, because she knew me. I was around her house just as much as her own kids, and April was the same way at mine. It didn't really matter that I was a boy, at least not to her._

 _But I'd seen the way Joe looked at me sometimes. Sideways, like he always had an eye on me. Back then, I didn't know why. I was innocent enough. But now, it's not hard to figure out. April was his little girl, and he was an overly-territorial, religious father. Of course he had an eye on me._

 _But that day, April's three sisters were at their after-school sports and April and I rode home on our bikes without them. It was starting to get chilly outside, and my mom had forced me into a scarf and winter hat that morning. But then, cruising up to my driveway, I tore them off and let my bike fall on its side._

 _"You need these?" I asked, holding them up to April who was in only a hand-me-down coat. It looked like it was Libby's when she was really young. It was way too babyish for an eleven-year-old, and April got made fun of for it. But I'd never agree with the bullies out loud. I wanted to give her something a little better, even if only my scarf and hat._

 _"Yeah," she said, not hesitating. "Hey. Wanna go to the treehouse? My sisters won't follow us, for once."_

 _"Great idea," I said, and jetted off towards the backyard after leaving our bikes behind. We matched pace on the way there, clambering on the ladder competing who could get inside first. Our shoulders bumped and collided with each other as we came up through the trapdoor, then we collapsed in a fit of laughter on the raggedy rug that Joe had dug out from their garage._

 _April and I hadn't seen each other all day. We were in the same class, but it had been a weird day at school. We were learning about sex ed, which meant that the boys and girls were separated into different rooms and at the end of the day, had a really hard time looking each other in the eye._

 _I sat cross-legged on the rug and April tugged a blanket down from the dumpy couch behind her, and giggled for seemingly no reason._

 _"What?" I asked._

 _"I learned about your boy parts today at school," she said, face flaming._

 _I raised my upper lip. "Well, I learned about your girl parts."_

 _"Yours are gross," she said. "It's all so gross."_

 _"Yeah, well yours are gross, too," I said, feeling defensive when I really didn't think that at all. My mom gave me the talk before we moved here, which was really embarrassing in itself, but I'm glad she did it before I saw that disturbing educational video and all those weird handouts with body parts on them. I would be so grossed out of I was learning all the strange places I'd grow hair from my teacher without hearing it from my mom first. Even though that was kind of gross, too._

 _It was one of the only times I'd wished I had my dad around. He probably wouldn't have made it so awkward._

 _My mom told me that things would start to change in my head and in my body. My voice would get lower, I'd start getting hairy armpits and maybe even a hairy back and stomach, and even darker hair on my legs. She told me I might even get hair in other… personal places, too._

 _April was the least hairy person I knew, but our health teacher said that girls get hair there, too. I couldn't stop thinking about hair on her. In weird places. And I didn't know why._

 _I shook my head to clear it, then realized I was letting my eyes wander all over her body. That should really not be happening. My mom also told me that it's completely normal for my penis to stand up at certain occasions, like it was doing right then as I thought about April's body and all the stuff she learned today about mine._

 _"You're staring at me," she said, looking confused._

 _"Sorry," I stammered, looking away and pressing my legs together. What could I do to make my penis stop being hard? This was so embarrassing. This was not supposed to happen. Around any girl, no less her! She would never stop making fun of me if she knew._

 _"It was weird learning about sex," she says, hands capped on her bent knees. "My mom and dad weren't even gonna let me at first. They didn't want to sign that paper. And I would've had to sit out of class in the office like some loser."_

 _"Why didn't they wanna sign it?" I asked._

 _She shrugged. "They don't want me knowing about that kinda stuff, I guess." She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, shrugging. "God says."_

 _"Right," I said. "Well, I wish my mom wouldn't have signed it. Then I wouldn't have had to sit there all day hearing gross words like 'scrotum' and 'nipple.'"_

 _We both cracked up, heads thrown back._

 _"Okay, they're not_ that _gross," April said. "It's just bodies. If you think about it like that."_

 _"Well, yeah," I said. "But the words are so bad."_

 _"You're right," she said. "Mrs. Reynolds just kept saying 'testes' over and over, I swear! And 'menses.'"_

 _"What's that?" I asked._

 _"Period," she said, eyebrows raised high. "I don't even have that yet. I don't want it. Libby has it, and it's scary. Blood comes from like, everywhere."_

 _I shuddered, thankful that I'd never have to experience that._

 _"And guess what else I learned about?" April asked. "I learned that boys'… " She paused. "..._ Privates _get hard when they get excited. That's so weird! Has that ever happened to you?"_

 _I rested my cheeks in my palms to cover my blush and lied through my teeth. "I don't think so," I said._

 _"Maybe when you have your first kiss," she said, leaning forward with a taunting expression on her face._

 _I took in a little gasp of air as the hardness in my pants was getting impossible to ignore. I didn't know what I planned on doing about it, but I knew I wanted it to be something. "Maybe I could kiss you and find out," I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth._

 _"Kiss_ me _?" April said, sounding baffled._

 _Suddenly, I felt all wrong. I knew I shouldn't have said that._

 _"My parents would kill me," she said, sounding uncomfortable. "That's… I don't think that's a good idea. Plus, I don't even like you like that. Boys are gross. I don't want to kiss anyone, sorry Jackson. I'm not allowed to kiss until I get married."_

 _"Oh," I said, staring at the wooden planks on the floor and feeling guilty for even thinking it. "Right, yeah. Sorry. I was just kidding."_

 _"Okay," she said, then stood up. "I… I gotta go. I'll see you on the bus tomorrow."_

 _After she left and I watched her cross the street back to her house, I flopped back on the rug and groaned loudly. I was so stupid. I felt guilty for asking, I should've known it would freak her out, and I definitely didn't want to do that. I didn't want her to think I was a creep because I thought she was cute. But she definitely couldn't know I thought she was cute, that'd make things even worse._

 _She was my best friend, and I just made her think I want to marry her. This is all wrong. Stupid sex ed class. Stupid body. Stupid hardness in my pants making me say stupid, stupid things._

A little while later after it gets dark, it's too cold to stay out on the porch and I go inside and seek out April. Assuming she hasn't moved from the front room, I walk there and find her in the same spot, just waking up.

"Hey," I say softly, lingering by the entryway.

She picks her head up and blinks her bleary eyes, then motions me over without words. I sit next to her and she leans against me, resting her cheek on my shoulder with one palm flat on my chest.

"I fell asleep," she murmurs, sounding a little disoriented.

"Mm-hmm," I say, stroking her hair.

"How long?"

"Hour or so," I say. "Maybe not even."

She nods, settling against me and sighing deeply.

"April," I say, twisting the ends of her hair between my fingers. "I don't want you to feel responsible for my episodes." I leave a small silence before I continue. "You're not doing anything wrong. Being with you, it… it makes me happy. Like I said. It makes me feel whole and grounded. Yeah, the first time we slept together was a lot. And it was my idea to stop it. But that was because… I don't know. I thought you might be different, or something. We hadn't seen each other for so long. But you're not. You're you, and I love you. And I want to be with you in every sense of the word." I press my lips to her hair when I say, "Okay?"

She turns her head and kisses my shoulder over my shirt, and I can hear the smile in her words. "Okay," she whispers.

We're in bed later in the middle of a rainstorm when April rolls on her side, slips a hand inside the front of my shorts, and starts kissing me - hot and slow.

"Mmm," I moan, a little surprised, into her mouth.

"You said it makes you feel good," she says softly, fingers closing around my stiffening penis. "I want to make you feel good."

I skim my hands up her back and pull her shirt off over her head, leaving her top half completely bare. My eyelids flutter as her hand pumps slowly, so I close them and let the way I'm feeling take over. It's a surprise when she pushes the covers off, and when I open my eyes I see her poised between my legs, pulling the waistband of my boxers down so my erection is free and waiting for her to continue.

She closes her lips around the head and I suck in air through my teeth, unable to resist the urge to palm the back of her head. "You're incredible," I groan, feeling her tongue along the underside. "Jesus, you're incredible."

She smiles and meets my eyes, cheeks hollowed out as she sucks hard and curls her tongue around the width. I feel myself hit the back of her throat and can't control the way my hips buck, and she has to pull away and cough for a second.

"Sorry," she says, catching her breath with one hand braced on my thigh.

"That was my bad," I say, a little embarrassed.

"You're fine," she says. "I just… my gag reflex, I know that's not very sexy."

"Everything about you is sexy," I say.

She shakes her head slightly then covers me with her mouth again, and I do my best not to overwhelm her a second time. She closes her eyes while she works, only opening them when the muscles in my groin tighten and she can tell I'm about to lose it. Her eyelashes flutter up and her green eyes meet mine so heavily it's like she's trying to put me into a trance, and I come while still in her mouth.

She wipes the back of her hand across her lips and I roll her over so she's on her back, lying there looking expectantly up at me. I gently curl a piece of her hair behind her ear and kiss her passionately, eyes closed and mouth open, then feel her fingers tighten on my biceps.

I kiss down her body - her neck, her sternum, her breasts, and lower. I pull her pajama pants off and she lets her knees fall to either side, making a comfortable space for my body to rest, and I trace one finger down the middle of her fuschia panties with the damp spot in the center. I watch her muscles tense and her hips twitch as she spreads her legs subtly wider, and I look up at her while letting my lower lip linger by the bow on her underwear.

She reaches down and looks at me with a warm expression in her eyes, not clouded by the desire showing behind it. The two expressions complement each other as she traces her pointer finger over one of my eyebrows, then flattens her hand on my cheek.

"I love you," she says, her voice quiet but sure.

"And I love you," I reply, then pull the waist of her underwear down her legs before covering her with my tongue. She tastes so good, and the sounds she makes send me reeling. She's the sexiest woman to ever live, that's a known fact. She doesn't hold back in the bedroom - she lets me know exactly how she's feeling, and I love it.

"Oh, that feels so good," she moans, tossing her head back to expose her pretty neck. I glance up and can see the shelf of her ribs showing through her skin as she takes a long exhale, and I reach to take one of her breasts in my hands and give it a gentle squeeze. She overlaps my hand with her own and tilts her pelvis upwards, letting me know what she wants and when she wants it. The sooner, the better. I've learned she doesn't like to wait.

I move my hand away from her chest to grab the outsides of her thighs and start moving my tongue faster. Her breathing hitches and the pace changes as mine does, and I hear high-pitched, staccato whines start to come from her.

"Oh, god," she whimpers. "That feels so… Jackson, oh god. I'm about to… you're gonna make me… oh, _god_!"

Her back lifts from the mattress as she comes, but I keep her hips anchored where I want them as I continue. The sounds coming from her are nearly sobs and her skin is flushed pink, and by the time she lowers down to her back, she can barely catch her breath.

She traps my body between her knees and lifts her heavy eyelids with an orgasm-drunk expression on her face - loose and hazy. "No man…" she says, voice weak. "Knows how to use their mouth like you do."

I chuckle darkly and crawl up her body, kissing her with generous use of my tongue. "Have other men gone down on you?" I ask, knowing that I might not like the answer.

But I'm surprised at what she comes back with. "No," she breathes, fingers ghosting over the shells of my ears. "Only you."

"Seriously?" I ask.

She nods.

"Well, they're idiots, then," I say. "Not to want to do that for you."

She raises her eyebrows. "Why do you like it so much?"

"I…" I begin. "I don't know. It's insane to see what I'm able to do to you. And it's almost more intimate than regular sex, it's… my mouth against the most private, feminine part of you. It's…" Her eyes are growing dark, pupils widening. "It's just really fuckin' sexy. To watch the way I make you feel."

She pulls my face down with her hands on either side of my neck and kisses me hungrily, ankles latching together around the back of my body, as she responds to what I've said without words.

"Should I get the Iris?" I tease.

"No," she breathes. "I want you. Just you."

Her hands are gentle on my back, caressing the skin and giving me goosebumps as I scoop my pelvis up against hers. We move in tandem, rhythms completing the other's, and don't speak as we connect. She keeps her legs wrapped around me and I bury my face in her sweet-smelling neck, opening my mouth on her pulse point as I try to memorize her heartbeat.

I don't rush; I take my time with her. I keep my hips pushed all the way against her for long moments at a time before pulling back, knowing how she loves it when I fill her. Her fingertips flutter over my shoulder blades and I hear her lose her breath when she gets close, and I'm about to get there, too. But I want her to go first.

"Go ahead, Angel," I say, lifting my head to look into her eyes that are swimming with emotion. "Come for me."

My words are enough to do it for her. Her body writhes under mine as the spool within her unwinds and crumbles apart, and she's repeating my name like a mantra until she's spent and cradling my body around her own as I have my own orgasm.

As I catch my breath, I press kisses all over her face and taste salt on my lips. When I look closely, I can see that she's crying.

"Is something wrong?" I ask, swiping some tears away with the pads of my thumbs.

She meets my eyes and sniffles, shaking her head. "No," she says, wiping beneath her eyes with the back of her hand. "I just… it all came over me just now." She looks away for a moment, eyes glistening in the low light, and frames my face in her hands when she looks back. "I love you," she says. "I know I've said it to you before, but I want you to hear me. I love you so much, Jackson." My heart is doing flips in my chest as she licks a tear from the corner of her mouth. "I never wanna let you go again. You're my one. And…" She hiccups with an errant sob. "I want you to be okay," she says weakly. "I just want you to be okay."

So I make a promise to myself that for her, I will be.


	9. Chapter 9

APRIL

I'm walking down the hallway with Amelia during our lunch break, making light conversation. It's been a week since dinner with my family, and tonight Jackson is due for his second therapy appointment.

"I think it's going well," I tell my friend, taking a bite of the chocolate chip cookie in my hand.

"Yeah?" Amelia asks.

"Uh-huh," I say. "He didn't really wanna tell me all that much after he got out last time, but I didn't think that was abnormal."

"Definitely not," she says. "Most of time, Owen still doesn't go on and on about what he and his therapist talk about. And he's been going for years."

"Right," I say. "Hold on. I'm gonna stop in the bathroom."

Amelia rolls her eyes and sighs as she leans on the wall. "This is like the tenth time. We can't get through a lap without you freakin' stopping."

I extend my arm. "Hold my cookie, please."

"Don't say that again," she says, snickering.

When I come back out, I see that she's taken a bite of it. "I said hold it, not eat it," I say, taking it back.

"Oh, whatever," she says. "Here, take a sip of my smoothie. Fair and square."

I turn up my nose at the green, vomitous color of the liquid inside the clear plastic cup she's holding. "No, thank you," I say, upper lip raised.

"What?" Amelia says defensively. "You love all this green shit."

I shake my head, disgusted. "Sounds horrible."

We start walking again, her sipping and me chewing happily, getting our midday exercise while we have the time.

"Oh, I was gonna tell you," she says. "I was in the locker room while you were changing this morning. Bitch, your boobs look incredible."

I screw up my eyebrows at her. "Creep," I say.

She bursts out laughing. "Shut up," she says. "It's a compliment. And anyway, living with Jackson, you have to be used to eyes on them."

My cheeks heat up, but I don't refute her.

"They look bigger," she says.

I pop the rest of the cookie into my mouth and cover my breasts with my palms, lifting them up. "Right?" I say, looking down at them and then over to her. "They feel bigger. And I think I must be about to get my period, because these babies are _sore_."

"Sucks," she says. "Big and sore boobs."

I narrow my eyes. "Keep your eyes off them."

"Jackson's property only," she says, smiling slyly. "Got it."

We keep walking, making our way up one more flight of stairs to the pediatric floor.

"So whose idea was it to get him in therapy?" Amelia asks, picking up the topic again.

"Well, mine," I say, eyeing a vending machine as we pass it. "Hold on. I need some Baked Lays, or I'm gonna die."

She snorts and waits for me to buy my second snack, then starts talking again after I rip open the bag. "And he just went along with it?" she says. "It was that easy?"

"No," I say, crunching. "He's stubborn."

"Then how'd you get him to go?" she presses. "Hold him at gunpoint?"

I flash her a warning look, and she realizes that her words were in poor taste.

"Oh, Jesus. I'm sorry. But you know what I mean."

I inhale loudly. "Yeah, no," I say. "But I did something similar."

"What, withhold sex?"

"Yep."

She laughs. "You're funny."

I look at her seriously. "I'm not kidding," I say. "I told him that we shouldn't have sex until he starts getting better, or at least starts to try. It wasn't good for him. It clouded his head, I could see it in his eyes. But even after that one appointment, it's different. He seems more stable."

"Are you scared of what he's capable of?" she asks. "During one of his episodes?"

I shake my head confidently. "Not at all," I say. "He's my…" I try and find the right word. "Jackson. That's the only way to explain it. He's Jackson, and I'd trust him with my life. He'd never hurt me."

"Not on purpose," Amelia mutters.

I frown at her. "Don't say stuff like that," I scold. "You don't know him. I do."

"Okay, okay," she says, palms up in surrender. Then, her attention is caught by the presence of one of our other friends, Arizona, who's head of the peds department.

"Hey," Amelia says, raising the hand that isn't holding her smoothie to wave. "Wanna join us? We're walking."

Arizona agrees with a smile on her face, blonde waves falling loosely around her shoulders. "I could use a walk," she says, then raises her eyebrows at me. "Off-setting the unhealthy with the healthy, I see?" she says.

She's referencing my chips, but I'm a little taken aback that she'd comment so openly on my choices. "I guess," I say, face scrunched in confusion.

Arizona chuckles a little bit, and I'm left puzzled as I continue to eat my chips. My two friends exchange conversation without me for a while, until the mention of my name snags my attention again.

"I can't believe I haven't said it yet," Arizona says. "April, congratulations! For some reason it feels like we've already talked about it, but I think that was just me in my own head."

That doesn't help my confusion whatsoever. "I…" I say, eyes squinting. "This might sound crazy, but am I missing something?" I look between Arizona and Amelia - Amelia looks just as confused as I feel. "What did I do that deserves congratulating?"

Arizona tips her head to one side. "Oh…" she says, studying me. "The baby?"

"The baby?" I echo.

"You're pregnant, aren't you?" Arizona asks, eyes wandering to my chest and then my belly.

I shake my head adamantly. "No," I say. "Oh, no. I'm not."

"I-" She cuts herself off and furrows her eyebrows. "Hmm."

"What?" I say urgently, stopping in my tracks. The both of them follow suit. "What's 'hmm?'"

Arizona's eyes widen and she looks a little panicky. "I didn't mean to say something before you knew yourself…" she says. "It's just instinct. It's my line of work. I-I thought you already knew. God, I'm so sorry."

"But I'm not pregnant!" I insist, my voice probably a bit too loud. I look to either side of the hallway and, after discovering that no one's around, lift up the front of my scrub top to expose my flat stomach. "Does it look like a baby's in there to you?"

"April," she says. "You know the belly doesn't start to show right away."

"Sore boobs…" Amelia says.

"Big boobs," Arizona points out, eyebrows up.

I shove my scrub top back down angrily. "Stop it!" I hiss. "I am not pregnant."

There's a weird, knowing silence between the three of us. "Are… you sure?" Amelia asks cautiously.

"Of course I'm sure," I say, mentally going back to the times Jackson and I had sex over the past few weeks. No condom, no condom, condom, no condom, condom… it's unreliable. We've been caught up in the moment when it happens.

We've been stupid.

"I think," I say, quieter now.

"Do you want to make sure?" Arizona asks, touching my wrist gently.

I look into her blue eyes and feel my breath hitch in my throat. I could be pregnant. There's a reasonable possibility that I might be with child right now.

"Yeah," I say, feeling my palms start to sweat.

She draws some blood from the inner crevice of my elbow and sends it to the lab, and I spend the rest of the day convincing myself that I'm not pregnant. There's no baby inside me, I'm the same as usual, just bloated. Maybe I'm getting comfortable and gaining weight with Jackson around, I don't know. It could be anything. It doesn't have to be pregnancy; it doesn't have to be a baby.

But the lab results that Arizona shows me at the end of the day tell me that's exactly what it is.

I get home to find the house quiet and smelling like sweet potatoes, which Jackson said he was going to cut up and make for lunch today. With nervous, jittery hands, I make my way to the kitchen and find some in a Tupperware container next to the oven, with a handwritten note on top saying that they're for me.

I'm too disheveled to eat right now, though. I smile at the note and put the container in the fridge, and tell myself that doing some yoga before Jackson's appointment might do some good in calming me down.

I'm going to tell him tonight, just not right now. Not before his appointment, I can't do that to him. I'll tell him either afterwards or tomorrow morning, when his head is clear.

I'm worried about how he'll react either way. This obviously wasn't the plan - he's been back in my life for just over a month. Having a baby isn't the best course of action; it's definitely not logical. It's not responsible. But we made one, so now it's happening. There's no choice in the matter at this point.

The thought crosses my mind that he might leave. He might not want this; he didn't sign up for a family with me. I didn't either, but I'm at a stable place in my life. He's not. He could decide that he isn't up for the challenge, the partnership, the parenthood, and pack up and go. And I'd be left in the wake of his choice, dealing with what we did together, alone.

When I go into my room to change, I find Jackson lying on his stomach taking a nap on top of the covers. He's in jeans and a t-shirt, he doesn't look that comfortable, but he's definitely deeply asleep because he doesn't budge when I walk into the room.

I change into cropped leggings and a racerback tank top, then walk over to him as I'm tying my hair up. I can't help but smile as I look at his relaxed face; his lips are parted and his cheeks are pushed together from the way he's positioned, hands folded to act as a makeshift pillow. It looks like he collapsed on the bed and fell asleep without any situating.

"Hey…" I say softly, so I won't scare him. I rub the small of his back over his shirt, but he doesn't stir. "Jackson…" I murmur, then skim my hand lower to pat his butt at couple times.

That gets his eyelashes to flutter. "Mm," he grunts weakly, pressing his lips together.

"I'm home," I say, taking a handful of his ass. He makes a move to swat my hand away, but he doesn't get far in his sleepy state. I giggle and lean down to kiss his head, and he rolls over onto his back before blinking his eyes slowly open.

"You gonna do yoga?" he asks, squinting.

"Yeah," I say. "Come downstairs when you're ready. Then, after I'm done we can go to therapy."

He nods halfheartedly and throws his arms over his head, and I make my way down to the living room. I roll out my purple yoga mat and focus on my breathing, my palms pressed together at my heart, and close my eyes. Usually, it's not hard for me to clear my mind, but I can't say that's the case today. I know what awaits me later, and I'm dreading every minute leading up to it and following. This won't be easy.

I take my hands away from my heart and move one to rest flat on my belly. There's a baby in there, a little life. And it's mine to grow and protect now. Jackson and I created it - our _child_ is growing steadily inside me.

For the first time, the conceptualization of that thought excites me instead of terrifies me.

But there's no way of knowing how he'll feel about it. It's probably the last thing he wants, and I don't blame him for that. We should've been more careful, we should've used condoms, I should've been on the pill. But none of those measures were taken, and now we're here. Well, I'm here. There's no 'we' in this yet because he's none the wiser.

For at least a little while longer.

Even though I know this is just as much his doing as it is mine, I can't help but feel guilty. Jackson already has so much on his plate, and this is only adding to it. We're talking another life to hold up when he can hardly shoulder his own. There couldn't be worse timing.

I settle into downward-facing dog and close my eyes, letting my shoulders pull back and my heels reach the floor. I feel my body start to relax in the way I wanted it to, but I don't stay in the pose for very long before I feel Jackson's arms wrap around my waist and pull me onto his lap as he collapses on the couch.

I laugh softly, melting against him, and wrap my arms around the back of his shoulders. "Hi, baby," I say, and touch the tip of my nose to his.

"Hey, Angel," he says, traces of sleep still detectable in his voice.

"What are you up to?" I ask, running my thumb over his cheekbone.

"Bothering you," he says. "What I do best."

I chuckle. "I barely got in five minutes."

"You haven't done very much yoga lately," he says, smoothing a hand over the back of my head.

"Because you don't let me," I say teasingly, lips pulling up into a smirk.

"Excuses," he says.

I glance at the clock on the wall and see that it's close to the time we need to leave anyway. "I gotta go get changed," I say. "We have to go soon."

I try to get up off of him, but he locks his arms around my waist and pulls me back down.

"Jackson…" I say, hands on his wrists.

"Five more minutes," he says, lips on my ear.

I crunch my neck to one side and squeal, fingers digging into his skin. "That tickles!" I shriek.

"Oh, it does?" he says, playing dumb as he maneuvers our bodies so I'm on my back and he's hovering over me. "I probably shouldn't do it again, then."

He ducks his head and nibbles on my earlobe, then blows a stream of cool air inside my ear, which makes me flail and scream with laughter.

"Stop it," I say, trying to catch my breath. "You know exactly what you're doing."

He meets my eyes with a dazzling grin. "I know I do," he says, and kisses me.

I make a small noise into his mouth as my eyes close, and my hands find their place on his shoulders as his lips part.

"I missed you today," he says, lowering his mouth to my jaw.

I tip my head up, finding a specific spot on the ceiling to stare at. The news that I need to tell him slipped my mind for a mere moment, but is back now at full force. My grip on him goes a bit slack, but I try not to be obvious. It's not the right time.

"I missed you, too," I say, lowering my hands to touch the strip of exposed skin at the small of his back. I run my fingers through the light hair there, and feel him grip one of my breasts comfortably.

"Ugh," he says. "I hate it when you wear a sports bra."

I giggle. "I know," I say.

"So maybe we should take it off…" he says, tone lilting.

"Jackson," I say sternly.

"April," he echoes, eyes glinting.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "Let me up. You're heavy."

He sits back and presses a dramatic hand to his heart. "You called me fat. I'm gonna talk about that in therapy."

I frown at him. "Not funny," I say. "I'm going to get changed."

He takes my wrist as I try and walk away. "It was a little funny," he says. "Admit it."

"No," I say, taking my hand back. "It wasn't. Jackson…" I sigh. "You're supposed to be taking this seriously."

"Come on," he says. "I am."

I widen my eyes. "That joke didn't seem very serious."

"It was one little joke," he says.

"But your therapy is not one little joke!" I fire back. I don't know where my sudden onset of annoyance came from, but it's here and it's all directed at him. If he's not fully dedicated to the counseling, then what's the point?

"I know that," he says, sounding guarded. "Why are you freaking out on me all of a sudden?"

I realize that I know, of course I know. Mood swings are very common with pregnancy, and I should've realized sooner. "I don't know," I lie. "But… just… it's a big deal, okay?"

"I know it is," he says. "Why do you think I agreed to go?"

I pop my weight to one side and cross my arms. "Because I asked you to?" I snap. "Because I said no sex until you did?"

"I…" His mouth hangs open, words caught in the precipice. "I mean, yeah, but…"

I shake my head and press my eyes shut. "I don't wanna fight about it," I say.

"You're the one picking the fight," he counters.

"Well, I'm done now," I say. "I have to go get changed."

"I can drive, you know," he says. "I can drive myself to my own therapy appointment. I'm not incapable."

"I know that," I say, already on my way up the stairs. "But I want to be there."

When we're in the car, the air is silent and stagnant. That was the first edgings of a fight that the two of us have had in over a decade, and I didn't like the way it made me feel. Especially not on the night that I have such big news to tell him. I want to apologize, but I'm not sure what for. I'm not sure if I need to, or if he should be the one doing it. I don't want to give in if nothing was my fault.

He should take therapy seriously, it's not something to joke about. I know he knows that, I know he's not stupid. But for some reason, it just rubbed me the wrong way.

I hate the way things feel between us, so when I park the car at the therapist's office, I turn towards Jackson and rest my elbow on the center console.

"I'm sorry," I say, looking right into his eyes. "For overreacting."

He looks down for a moment, then back up. "I'm sorry for making a joke out of things."

"Thanks," I say, voice growing quieter. "I just… it just bothered me because I want this to work for you. I want you to see that it can."

He nods.

"But I know I didn't need to flip out," I say. "So just forget that part happened."

He smiles a little. "Okay," he says. "We should go in."

I nod, and we meet halfway to kiss chastely with one of his hands overlapping mine where it rests.

When I see Jackson's face as he comes out of the therapist's office, I know it can't be good. His skin looks pale, his hands are shaking, and there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead as his therapist walks out behind him.

"We dredged up some heavy stuff today," Dr. Green says. "I made sure he was comfortable enough to leave before I ended our session, but he's still going to need some support tonight. A stable environment will be helpful to get him back on his feet."

I wrap my arm around the small of Jackson's back and look worriedly between his face and the doctor's.

"Is he okay?" I ask, hearing the urgency in my voice. I tip my head to try and look in Jackson's eyes, but his mind is elsewhere. "Are you okay?"

"He'll be fine," Dr. Green says. "He just needs to get some rest."

"What did you talk about?" I ask, clutching Jackson tighter.

"That's up to him to decide if he wants to share," Dr. Green says. "I'm not at liberty to discuss it with confidentiality laws in place. But he's welcome to talk about it, if he feels up to it."

I bite the inside of my cheek as I rub up and down Jackson's arm. "Okay," I say softly. "You're okay. We're gonna go home."

The doctor bids us goodbye and I'm left in the lobby with my shell of a best friend. I can't believe I thought I'd be able to tell him my big news tonight.

When we get to the car, I'm still fretting over Jackson, who hasn't said a single word.

"Honey, are you okay?" I ask for a second time. I touch his arm then move my hand to his thigh, where I grip solidly. "Say something," I urge. "You're scaring me."

He clears his throat, eyes roving to mine. "I'm okay," he says. "I just… I just need time."

"Okay," I say, squeezing his knee and blinking at him. "Okay." I take in a deep breath. "Do you want anything on the way home? A drink, a snack, anything?"

He shakes his head.

"Okay," I say, more to myself than to him. "We'll go home, then."

When we get home, Jackson still isn't himself as he follows me into the kitchen where I start to make dinner. I pull out a tall silver pot to boil water in, and notice him hovering behind me.

"You need something?" I ask gently, holding the pot in two hands.

"I… I just wondered if you wanted help," he says, eyes glazed over.

I don't recognize him. I'm starting to wonder myself if therapy was a good idea, though I know it was. I can't expect for things to be fixed right away - they'll undoubtedly get worse before they get better. And I'm seeing the effects of that now.

It's harder than I thought it would be, seeing him in this much pain and disarray.

"Oh," I say, setting the pot in the sink as I turn the water on. "Yeah, if you want. You can cut up some parsley to put overtop of it. That would be nice, don't you think?"

He nods and starts chopping a few moments later, and with our backs faced towards each other I want nothing more than to know what happened inside that room today. I know we're nowhere near the same person, but it always does me some good to talk my problems out. Maybe Jackson could be the same way, and he just doesn't know it yet.

"You know, you can talk to me about anything," I say, breaking the silence out of the blue. "I don't even have to respond. I can just listen."

"I know," he says quietly. His voice is much softer than usual, but it's starting to sound more like him. That's somewhat of a comfort; he's on his way back to me.

I nod to myself. "So if what you talked about with Dr. Green… if that's weighing on you, I'm here." I look at him over my shoulder, but he's still staring down at the parsley he's cutting. "I'm always here."

I toss some spaghetti noodles into the bubbling water and cross the kitchen, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind and pressing my cheek between his shoulder blades. I feel a long breath escape him and I don't let go, I just stay there, holding him loosely and letting him know that I'm not going anywhere.

He doesn't offer any information, though. Though his eyes are brighter at dinner and he makes light conversation, he doesn't bring up his session. I tell myself that it's okay, he doesn't have to, but I know that in my heart, I want him to. I want to know everything he's going through so I can help him overcome it, and I can't do that if he won't let me in.

During a long silence as we eat, I let my mind wander to my own problems. The tiny fetus, growing inside me right now, that's still unknown to its father. I glance up at him subtly, not wanting him to notice, and grip my fork tighter. I can't picture him taking care of a tiny, helpless baby, when he can barely take care of himself.

I want to take the thought back as soon as it crosses my mind, but it stays. And the fear from earlier in the day comes back. What if he leaves?

 _We were sixteen. We were in Jackson's basement on the slow desktop computer that his mom used for work; Jackson sitting in the rolling chair with me perched on the desk beside him._

 _"His name is Robert," he said._

 _"Robert," I repeated. "Sounds pretty normal."_

 _He nodded. "He works at a bar in Three Rivers. That's not even that far from here. He… I think he owns it."_

 _I watched his green eyes scan the computer screen, drinking in the information he said he didn't care about._

 _"Do you think your mom moved here to be closer to him?" I asked._

 _He glanced at me quickly before looking back at the computer. "No," he said. "That'd be stupid. They haven't even talked in years."_

 _"How do you know?" I asked. "You thought he was dead until you were like, 14. What other stuff don't you know?"_

 _"My mom wouldn't lie to me," he said defensively._

 _"I didn't say she would," I said. "Not for any bad reasons, at least. She probably wanted to protect you. She probably still wants to."_

 _He shoved the mouse so it clattered against the keyboard. "Yeah, she's had to do it all since Robert hasn't done shit."_

 _"Jackson," I say, my voice low._

 _"What?" he says. "It's true. He's lived thirty miles away from me for five years and hasn't said a thing. All he's good for is those stupid child support checks." His face flushed. "I just wanna go over there to his stupid bar and tell him that he's worthless. That he never did anything for us. That he doesn't deserve to just live his life like nothing ever happened." He paused. "Like I never happened."_

 _His jaw was set tight and his eyebrows furrowed together, and I reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. "If you wanna tell him off, you should," I said. "I'd go with you."_

 _He huffed and slumped in the chair, still staring ahead without turning to look at me. "I don't even know what I would say."_

 _"You just said it," I pointed out._

 _There's a long silence where the only sound in the room is Jackson's loud sighing. "I want him to feel that, you know, what my mom had to feel. I want him to know how hard it was. I want… I just don't want to let him off easy. He's gotten off so easy."_

 _"He has," I said._

 _He looked up at me for the first time. "You'd seriously go with me?" he asked._

 _I nodded._

 _And we picked a day to go._

 _The next Saturday, I was in the passenger's seat as Jackson drove us to Three Rivers, where we'd find a little, home-owned bar called The Hangout. But before we got there, we were on the highway and Jackson's hands were clenched on the wheel like it might fly away if he didn't grip tight enough._

 _He wasn't speaking, which I was used to. Whenever he had a problem, he let it stew until he exploded. It wasn't healthy, but I knew what to look for._

 _"The place doesn't open 'til 5, right?" he asked, making sure for the third time, at least._

 _"Yep," I said. "We'll be there with plenty of time." I looked out the window at the thick line of trees along the highway. "Do you want me to come in, or wait in the car?"_

 _He waited a long time before answering. "I don't know," he said._

 _"Okay."_

 _We were quiet for the rest of the ride, Jackson following my directions that I read from a torn-out piece of notebook paper once we got into town. After a few twists and turns, we ended up in an empty parking lot in front of a bar with a neon sign that wasn't lit up. The Hangout._

 _I braced my hand on the door, but Jackson's voice stopped me. "Not yet," he said._

 _I moved my hand back to my lap, where it rested with the other. We sat in silence; the only sounds being the occasional car passing by on the street we came in on. I wished I could read his mind as he stared ahead, eyes burning the building like he wanted nothing more than to destroy it._

 _"Are you okay?" I asked, after what seemed like an eternity had passed. All I wanted was for him to know that I was there if he needed anything, but I wasn't quite sure how to put that into words that weren't cheesy._

 _His eyes were glassy with tears, I assumed. The swells of his cheeks told me that his teeth were gritted together, and his hands were still on the wheel though we were stationary._

 _I knew, looking at him right then, that we wouldn't be going in._

 _"Do you want me to drive?" I asked, and he nodded curtly. We switched places, and I got acclimated to the feel of the driver's seat before backing slowly out of the parking lot and back onto the road._

 _I was a much slower, much more cautious driver than he was, but for the first time he didn't make fun of me as I putted along the road. He kept one arm on the back of my seat, which was a strangely intimate gesture, and didn't offer up any conversation._

 _I drove around aimlessly, not heading home. I knew that wasn't where he wanted to be. I took the back roads, the long way, until we were back in Kalamazoo._

 _I parked by the river and looked over at him, noticing the tear stains on his cheeks. I didn't call attention to them, though. That was the last thing I'd do._

 _I took in a breath to say something, but he turned and got there first. "I'm sorry," he said. "That whole trip was for nothing."_

 _I shook my head, turning the corners of my mouth down, but he kept talking._

 _"Thanks, though," he muttered, staring down at the dirty floor rugs before lifting his eyes back up to mine. "For being there."_

 _I outstretched my arms and he fell into them immediately, letting his body melt against mine as his face was pressed into my neck. "Best friends," I said, squeezing tighter. "Stick together."_

I'm getting ready for bed when Jackson comes in later, brushing my teeth while wearing a long t-shirt of his and a pair of pink underwear. I spit out my toothpaste, take my hair down from its loose bun and slip off my socks, then go to sit down on the edge of the bed.

I let out a long sigh and lean forward with my hands on my knees, letting my head drop down too. I hear Jackson's footsteps come closer and the bed move as he crawls on it behind me, then I feel his hands on my shoulders.

I lift my head up, confused at his touch, but welcoming it.

"What are you doing?" I ask, moving my neck from side to side.

"You look tense," he says, fluidly massaging my muscles.

I press my lips together and make a soft sound as his thumbs dig in, and notice that there's music playing in the background. The beat is slow and smooth with a defined beat, like something trying to be sexy in a nuanced, subtle way.

It's nice, as quiet as it is. I close my eyes and let myself get lost in the way his hands feel, though I'm still not sure where this came from. I'm definitely tense, but he's never given me an impromptu massage before. He's never given me one at all, actually.

"Lay on your stomach," he says, after a few moments have passed.

I slowly make my way to lie flat, my cheek resting on my hands that are folded over one another. "This is so nice," I say, feeling him straddle my hips as he continues to work on my tight back. "Thank you. You didn't have to."

"I know," he says, hands still moving.

"I love you," I tell him, feeling his fingers around my ribcage as his thumbs dig in on either side of my spine.

"I love you, too," he responds, and I can hear the slight smile in his tone.

I press my forehead against my wrists when he concentrates on the small of my back, digging his thumbs in circles on the knots there. He spends a long time making sure all the kinks are gone, then moves lower to my ass.

I crinkle my forehead, wondering what he's up to when I feel his palms flatten out over me. I'm not denying that it feels good, because when he squeezes the supple skin in his hands and leans forward, I can't suppress the moan that comes out of me. I just wasn't expecting it.

But when his mouth lowers to the bare strip of skin along my back and I feel his hand sneak between my legs, I know what he's trying to do.

"Jackson, no..." I say, rolling over and frowning. My billowy t-shirt has ridden up to expose the lower half of my stomach and the pink underwear, but I make no moves to adjust it. "I know what you're doing."

He sits back on his heels, looking puzzled. "You don't want that?" he asks.

I sit up a bit and the shirt moves with me. "I…" I make a frustrated sound. "You can't use sex to forget about your problems all the time," I say.

"Why? You said it yourself," he says. "You want to make me feel good. And I know it makes you feel good, too."

"Of course it does," I say, criss-crossing my legs. "But it can't be your only coping mechanism. That's not healthy."

"It's not," he says. "I go to therapy. That's a coping mechanism."

I roll my eyes slightly. "No, it's not."

"Then why am I going?" he asks.

"It's not a coping mechanism, it's a tool," I say. "So you don't bottle everything up like you always do and let it kill you."

Something flashes across his eyes, something that I can't read. It's not warm, though, I can see that much.

"I'm not bottling things up," he says. "I just want to have sex with you to forget about… to forget about stuff for a little while. Is that really too much to ask?"

I push myself up onto my knees and look at him desperately. "What are you trying so hard to forget about?"

His eyes darken and his fists clench. "You really wanna know what's bothering me?" he says. "What I'm trying to forget about?"

"Of course I do," I say, motioning dramatically with my hands.

His jaw trembles as he opens it to speak. "The reason I can't hear is because of a car bomb. It blew up feet away from me and threw me in the air like I weighed nothing. I landed right here." He slaps one hand down on his knee. "It shattered. But I didn't feel a thing."

My mouth drops open a bit. My heart is twisting inside my chest, overflowing with too many emotions to name.

"I didn't feel it because people died, and that's all I cared about. Ben, my best friend that I made over there. He had been with me through it all, through every single deployment. I was staring into his face when he died. Feet away from him were two little kids. The girl couldn't have been older than seven and she was carrying a baby boy. The explosion hit them, too. And I watched it all happen. It hit me, and it barely touched me - compared to them. I watched people die in front of me, April. That's what I'm trying to forget about."

My chest is heaving with heavy breaths and I watch him swallow with difficulty. I finally know what's been haunting him, what will continue to haunt him. And I'm surprised that the first emotion I can wrap my head around is… anger.

"You didn't tell me," I say. "How could I have helped you? You can't keep these kinds of things from me. You can't keep forcing these things down and hope they'll go away," I say.

His eyes are on fire. "There's no other way," he says.

"There's always another way," I say, not missing the way my own words relate to my situation, too.

"Do you want me to live that hell every single second of my life?" he asks. "Let myself think about it during the day, and then dream about it at night, too?"

I shake my head. "No," I say, voice shaky. "No."

"That's what it does to me," he says. "That's what I have to live with."

A lump grows in my throat and I try to clear it, but it won't budge. He's seen people die, his own best friend. And two children, two innocent children.

It's no wonder he has ghosts swimming behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry," I manage to croak.

I feel the news on the tip of my tongue. I know I won't be able to keep it in for much longer.

I open my mouth, but no words come out at first. Neither of us tear our eyes away from the other, and my stomach is lit up with anxiety. I can't bottle this in, I can't force it down. Just like what he told me, this has to come out.

"Jackson," I say, feeling tears slip down my cheeks. "I'm pregnant."


	10. Chapter 10

JACKSON

 _We were 12._

 _It was a Saturday towards the end of spring, and the first thing I heard when I woke up was fervent knocking on the front door. My mom had gone to work, and I was sleeping in. I knew it could only be one person._

 _When I opened the door, I saw that I was right. April was standing there in light blue overalls and a long-sleeved striped t-shirt, her hair in frizzy waves around her face._

 _"Jackson!" she said excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Good. You're awake. I called you, but no one answered."_

 _I rubbed my eyes. "I was asleep," I said._

 _"It's almost noon!" she said, throwing her hands up. "But you're up now. You have to come! Aunt Shelly is over, and she brought my new baby cousin, Violet. She's so tiny. You have to see!"_

 _I sighed. I was the only kid in my family, which meant I had no idea what babies were like. I had no interest in them. I was a 12-year-old boy, what good were babies to me?_

 _But April was excited, and I wasn't about to tear her down._

 _"One sec," I said. "I have to get dressed."_

 _She followed me inside and waited while I put clean clothes on, sitting on the comfortable couch we had in the living room. It was her favorite place to sit because the cushions still had bounce, unlike the couch at her house that had way too many people sitting on it all the time._

 _When I came back downstairs, she was kicking her legs impatiently. She jumped up when she saw me, and pulled me out of the house by my wrist._

 _"You're not even gonna believe it," she gushed, leading the way across the street. "She's 2 weeks old. I swear, you've never seen a real person so tiny!"_

 _We burst through her front door and I saw a sea of red hair in the living room, all of them crowded on the couch around a bundle I couldn't clearly see yet._

 _"Mom!" April said loudly. "I brought Jackson."_

 _"Shhh," another woman, who I assumed was Aunt Shelly, said. "The baby just fell asleep."_

 _"Oh!" April said, lowering her voice to a whisper as she scampered over._

 _I lagged behind, catching the attention of April's youngest sister, Alice. She hung on my arm and pointed at the baby, who was swaddled tight in a white patterned blanket._

 _"That's my cousin," Alice said, lisp clear._

 _"Yeah, April told me," I said, hanging back._

 _"Jackson," April said, waving me over. "Come here! I want you to hold her. Can Jackson hold her, Aunt Shelly?"_

 _"If he sits down," April's aunt said, eyeing me._

 _I looked at the couch for a place to sit and found every spot taken, so I sat down in the armchair that I usually saw Joe in. I didn't really want to hold the baby, but I couldn't say that. Not in front of all these Kepners, who'd interrogate me for it._

 _"Okay, support her head," Aunt Shelly said, standing and walking to me with the baby in her arms. "It's easy, I promise."_

 _"Just don't drop her," Libby said snidely._

 _"He won't drop her," April said, shooting her older sister a look._

 _Aunt Shelly set baby Violet in my arms and I tensed up. I pulled my head back, neck taut, and raised my eyebrows at her face. She was squishy and barely looked like a person; I'd never seen a newborn baby this up close before. It was a little unsettling._

 _April walked quietly over to me and hovered over my shoulder to look at her cousin. "Isn't she cute?" she asked, reaching to trace one of Violet's nonexistent eyebrows._

 _"Uh-huh," I said, unconvincingly._

 _"You're a natural, Jackson," Karen said warmly._

 _But I didn't want to be a natural. I wanted to hand the baby off, I didn't want to hold her anymore. I wanted to be in my treehouse doing something cool or exploring the ravine. And now, thanks to this dumb baby, April probably wouldn't come with me today._

 _I looked down at Violet's face and wondered why everyone was so impressed. What was so special about a baby? She had everyone wrapped around her finger, and she didn't even open her eyes._

 _To me, it wasn't that big of a deal._

For a moment, simply just stare at each other. Her mouth is open slightly and her eyes are wide and watery, and I can't help but notice one hand resting over her stomach.

April is pregnant.

With my child.

My face grows hot and I swallow with difficulty. I hear a long, loud breath come from my nose as I grip my thigh tightly, as tight as I can to keep myself here. I dig my nails in so the pain will keep me grounded, but it doesn't work.

Gunshots. Bombs. Explosions. Bloodshed. Hot, dry sand scraping against the side of my face, digging into the open wounds already there. I'm lying helpless, defenseless, unable to protect anyone, much less myself.

I'm drowning in the blood of others, the blood I allowed. I sink down through the thick, dark, bubbling substance and never hit the bottom. I keep my eyes open, though I can't see through it. There's nothing I can do besides let it happen. That's what I'm best at, anyway.

I was a bystander and I let people die. I let my own people die, along with innocent civilians. I don't deserve anything good in this world. I don't deserve to create new life when I sat by and watched it fade away.

"Jackson?" I hear her voice in the back of my mind, pulling me up. Pulling me out of the pit of blood until I'm gasping for air at the surface, clawing for a solid grip.

But I'm sitting still, nails still clamped onto my legs. April is looking at me with fear in her eyes, which is something I never wanted to see.

But I know it'll only get worse.

"Say something," she says, voice trembling. I look at her, and see that she's crying. Silent tears are rolling down her cheeks and dripping below her chin, but I don't reach out and catch them. I can't. I can't bear to be in this room right now.

I get a tight feeling in my chest that feels like it could burst through at any second. I breathe harder, eyes burning a hole into the comforter between us, before I lift my head and say, "I can't be around you right now."

She cries harder, arms pulled into her chest as I get up off the bed and storm out. I can still hear her sobbing as I shove my feet into my shoes and open the front door, headed nowhere.

It's cold outside without a jacket, but I barely feel the chilly wind. I walk with purpose without any end destination in mind - I just go. With my eyes on the asphalt under my feet, I'm on a mission to no specific place, but I find myself in mine and April's old neighborhood.

Miles Avenue, where we grew up. My feet took me here, of all places.

But it's not surprising, not really. There's no other place that feels as much like home as this street does. I remember the day we first moved in, seeing April tromp across the street in her hand-me-down clothes, hair a mess, that book under her arm. It's strange to think how long ago that was, because when I concentrate it feels like yesterday.

I take in a deep inhale of the cool night air, letting it free my senses and relax my mind. I feel much better out here than I did inside, looking at her face that was expectant for my reaction.

A baby. A baby and my demons released in the same night.

I shouldn't have left her there like I did, but I had no other choice. It was either leave her and take some time for myself to cool down, or blow up at her. And I have enough awareness to know that she didn't deserve that.

This is the best option for both of us, me taking a break for the night. She probably doesn't understand right now, but hopefully she will later. Or at least she'll try.

But the way her face looked is cemented into my brain, flashing like a brand when I close my eyes. I can read her like a book, and what I said wounded her. I shake my head slightly, cursing myself for hurting her. I was never that person - I was never the bad guy. I was always the one rushing to her defense when things weren't okay.

 _I was walking to the store one day when I saw them. April and Alex, sitting on the grass at the park near our neighborhood. We were fifteen, almost sixteen, and she'd had a crush on him since forever. Everyone knew about it. It was just kind of a thing._

 _But he'd never given her the time of day, not once. The most he'd talk to her was to make fun of her hair or the way she dressed, so I wondered why they were hanging out together. It didn't add up. I knew that there was a catch, that something had to be wrong, and most likely she wasn't aware._

 _So I detoured my path to the store and walked into the park, hopping over the fence so I wouldn't have to use the gate, because that would put me in their line of vision. I crinkled up my forehead as I tried to listen, and I got close enough to get a good idea of their conversation._

 _"Yeah, I really like your outfit," Alex said._

 _April giggled. It was her tic, that nervous giggle. To me, it gave her away instantly. But of course, Alex had no idea._

 _"Thanks," she said._

 _She was wearing a hand-me-down dress with short sleeves and buttons. It was just a dress, nothing for Alex to be impressed over. I had a feeling he was bluffing, lying to get on her good side._

 _"I like sitting here with you," she said. I wished she'd speak up. I could barely hear her, she was being so soft-spoken. That's another thing she did when she was nervous; she'd get self-conscious and shy._

 _"Ditto," Alex said. "You're really pretty, you know that?"_

 _"Oh…" April said. "No, I'm not."_

 _I furrowed my eyebrows more. Yes, she was. She knew how much I hated it when she called herself ugly. I'd always make her take it back, and that fact alone almost made me jump out from my hiding spot. But I kept myself under control and didn't blow my cover._

 _"You are," Alex said. "Uh… you have pretty hair."_

 _"Th-"_

 _"Are you a virgin?" he asked, interrupting._

 _"Oh…" she said, tone of voice shifting. "I am, yeah."_

 _"Cool," Alex said, and my stomach twisted even though I wasn't sure why. I felt like I wanted to throw up. He was such a creep. I wanted to jump in the middle of their conversation, but I knew April would hate me for it. I stayed put. I knew I shouldn't be eavesdropping the way I was, but something just didn't feel right about this._

 _"Yeah."_

 _"Have you ever thought about who you'd want to take it?" Alex asked._

 _My skin bristled. I willed him to leave it alone, but of course, he didn't._

 _"Oh, um… no," April said, voice clipped._

 _"If you let me take you out on a date, maybe I could," Alex said._

 _"A date?" April echoed._

 _I heard snickers to my right and turned my attention to the sound. I found the source, seeing Izzie Stevens and Meredith Grey perched behind a statue, covering their mouths to keep their laughter at bay._

 _Immediately, I knew what was going on._

 _I stormed out from my hiding place and stomped over to Alex and April, which made her jump._

 _"Jackson?" she said, eyes wide with surprise. "What are you doing here?"_

 _"Come on," I said. "We have to go."_

 _"What?" she said, voice high in pitch. "No! Why?"_

 _"Because he's tricking you," I said, and could feel my face heating up. "I heard everything. He doesn't want to take you out on a date, his stupid-ass friends just dared him to." I pointed my arm behind me, where Meredith and Izzie peeked their heads out. "They're just trying to make you look like an idiot."_

 _April's mouth fell open as she saw the two girls behind the statue, and she looked back to Alex who was trying to keep the smug smile off his face - and that was all the confirmation she needed._

 _She stood up and took a few steps towards me, arms curling into her chest as her neck flushed. Her eyes glistened like she was about to cry, and I wrapped my arm around her shoulders._

 _"I'm so stupid," she whimpered, wiping beneath her eyes._

 _"No, you're not," I said. "Go wait by the fence. I'll be right there."_

 _"What are you-"_

 _Before she could finish, I socked Alex right on the jaw so he fell backwards onto his side in the dirt._

 _"That's for hurting my best friend," I said, shaking out my hand. "Don't ever talk to her again."_

I walk around aimlessly for hours, lost in my own head. Barely any cars pass me on the street, and when they do I wonder what's going on in their minds. Are they trying to escape their ghosts, too? I come to the conclusion that they're probably not. They're probably just second and third shifters heading home, and I shouldn't push my tortured story onto people I know nothing about.

Maybe I shouldn't have saddled April with this. Maybe I should've stayed at a motel, found a job and pulled myself up by my bootstraps. Of course, she'd instinctively been my first option, but I could've ignored it and been logical. She deserves someone stable, someone she doesn't have to take care of. And soon, she'll have two incapable humans to take care of instead of just one. It isn't fair to her, she didn't ask for this. I forced my presence on her; what was she supposed to do, turn me away? I put her in an impossible position, and now there's no taking it back. I've cemented myself in her life for good with the growing fetus inside her. There's no turning back now.

If she were anyone else, the topic of abortion might be on the table. But she's April, so it's not. Of course it's not. That almost makes things easier, in a way. Less options to choose from. We know that it's happening, no questions asked. I know her, so I'd never ask anything less. Killing that bundle of cells would ruin her.

But going through with the pregnancy might very well wreck her.

I walk until my fingertips are numb and my thoughts have quieted, but know that when I get back home I still won't sleep. I walk through the door as quietly as I can, slip out of my shoes, and pad up the stairs to check on her.

I peek in the doorway with my hands braced on the wood and see April asleep with the light on. She's on her back, wearing pink patterned sleep shorts and a loose, v-neck white t-shirt that she likes because the material is soft, one arm thrown over her head. The other rests comfortably on her stomach, fingers lax and fanned out as she's completely relaxed. I look at her face; the soft slope of her nose, the pink bow of her lips, the curve of her cheekbones, and practically feel a pain in my chest from how perfect she is.

I want to wake her up and apologize for how I acted earlier; tell her that the life inside her is a blessing - because I know that's what she wants to hear. She might not admit it to herself, but those words would send her over the moon.

I let her sleep, though, because those are words I can't say. Right now, the baby isn't a blessing. It's a huge hurdle that I don't know if I'll clear.

I flick the light off and head downstairs to the couch, where I turn the TV on and watch until my eyes feel dry and crackly. When the sun comes up, I haven't slept a wink. When April comes down to leave for work, she's dressed and ready smelling like her favorite lotion. I look at her without turning my head and see that she's chosen tea over coffee this morning, and her face is tense and somber. I want to say something, but I don't. I'll let our communication be on her terms.

And her terms apparently include silence, because she leaves without so much as a goodbye. The door closes behind her and I'm left alone with the background noise of the TV digging into my ears, reminding myself just exactly where I am. If I don't make this right, her life will move on without me - I've convinced myself of that. I need her so much more than she needs me; I'd be an idiot not to realize that. And once she realizes it, I could be hitting the curb faster than a blink of an eye.

After half the day passes, I find myself missing her. If we were on speaking terms, I'd call her on her lunch and we'd talk and catch each other up on our days. But right now, I don't think a phone call from me is on the top of her list. I know I wasn't the only one in the wrong - she practically forced my demons out of me - but I feel like I'm the one to blame. She's pregnant, she automatically gets the benefit of the doubt. And I feel like the asshole.

What if I'm more like my father than I realize? At the moment, nothing sounds easier than disappearing. I could pack up all my things and go away without a trace, without leaving so much as a note. I'd just be gone. April would never know where I went, and I'd never show up again. The kid would be sixteen before he'd seek me out, and even then he wouldn't go through with it.

Did Robert have these thoughts, too? When he left my mom and me?

I slam my fist down on my thigh, which brings me back to reality. I am not my father, and I never will be. I'm not going to leave this baby, and I'm not going to leave my best friend - the woman I love. The woman I've loved for the better half of my life.

But I could. The possibility is there. And that prospect is daunting enough.

April and I don't talk for two days and two nights. The silence isn't malicious or rageful, it's more solemn than anything. And that's worse, because I don't know where to begin in mending it. I had a plan of riding it out, letting her talk when she feels like it, until that plan was interrupted by a phone call in the middle of the day from her hospital.

I answer the familiar number, wondering if it's her and hoping that it is. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Jackson Avery?" a female voice says.

"Speaking," I reply, sounding serious.

"Hi, Mr. Avery. My name is Dr. Montgomery, I'm calling on behalf of April Kepner, you're listed as her top emergency contact."

"Is she okay?" I ask, growing panicky. That fluttery feeling in my chest shows up, the one that makes me feel unstable and helpless.

"We're figuring that out right now. She had a fall, and-"

"A fall?!" I sputter. "She's pregnant, is the baby-"

"We're getting her all checked out right now, making sure that everything's stable. I'm an OB/GYN, I'm taking care of her."

"Then why are you talking to me?" I ask, clutching the phone.

"She's getting some tests run right now," Addison says. "I'm calling to let you know that you'll want to come in. She needs you."

My palms start to sweat, along with my forehead. "I'll be there," I say, though I'm not sure how. I don't care how. If April needs me, I'm there.

I end up taking the bus, which takes way too long. When I finally get to Borgess, I run inside and practically trip over my own feet as I skid to the receptionist's desk and ask for April Kepner.

"Oh, she's not on the board today," the nurse says, looking up at a whiteboard on the wall.

"No, not operating!" I say urgently. "She's a patient. She fell. I'm-"

"Jackson?" I hear the same voice as I heard on the phone, and whip my head around to see a woman approaching me with russet-colored hair. "I'm Addison Montgomery. We spoke on the phone." We shake hands, and she starts to walk. I follow her without question. "April's doing fine. She's stable, she's just a little shaken up. You can go in and see her, she's awake."

I manage to thank Dr. Montgomery once we get to April's room, and she gives us the space we need. April is sitting up in bed, white tape over stitches on her forehead, wearing a hospital gown that dwarfs her. She looks worse for wear; she has bruises on her upper arms and the side of her face, and I can tell that she's been crying. It's all in her posture.

"Jackson," she breathes, once she sees me.

"Angel," I say, and hurry to her side. I sit on the bed and scoop her up in my arms, holding her body close to my chest as I feel her start to cry. "Are you okay?" I ask, into her hair. It smells the same as always, which comforts me and plants my feet on the ground.

"I'm okay," she sniffles, grip tight on my arms.

"And the baby?" I ask. "Is the baby okay?"

I feel her nod against me. "The baby is fine," she says tearfully.

I pet her hair, rocking us back and forth as she still whimpers. "What happened?" I say. "What did you get yourself into?"

She lets out a mixture of a hiccup and a sob as she looks up at my face. "I was walking down the stairs in the east wing," she says. "I guess I just lost my footing. I fell down almost an entire flight."

"Geez," I say, kissing her forehead. "You must've been so scared."

"I was," she says. "I was so scared that… that…" Her words catch in her throat, and she starts crying again.

"Shh…" I soothe. "You don't have to say it. It's okay, everything's fine. You're okay, just a little banged up. Nothing you can't handle."

She nods shakily. "I know," she says, holding me tighter. "I'm so glad you're here. I was so scared, and all I wanted was you."

I realize that, with my arms tight around her, I'm trembling. I press my lips to the top of her head and try to stop, but it's useless.

What if something had happened to the baby? Even more, what if something had happened to April? I wasn't here, I couldn't have done anything to stop it. I was at home, totally unaware, living life as usual. What if I would've gotten a call and been told that she was in an accident and didn't make it? I would be a bystander, having done nothing to protect her.

I need to do everything to protect her, her and that baby. For the first time, the concept of it feels real. She really has a baby inside her, a baby that we created. Holding that fact in my hands is the scariest thing I've ever done. There's a life coming into this awful world that I'll need to shield and keep safe. But will I be good enough? Will I be able to do it?

I feel her hands on my face and we lock eyes, both of us teary. "April," I croak, and she nods me on. I clear my throat and let out a shaky exhale. "We're having a baby."

Her eyebrows tilt towards each other, then her mouth forms a watery smile. "Yeah," she says, her voice high and soft. "We are."

I collapse against her and feel her arms tighten around me, and I can't help but openly cry. My shoulders rack with sobs and she rubs my back, though I know these roles should be reversed. "I'm sorry," I say. "I'm sorry for reacting the way I did when you told me."

She kisses the side of my head, holding me close. "I'm sorry, too," she says. "I shouldn't have forced you to say those things. It was wrong of me. I… it's no excuse, but I just want to help you. I love you so much, Jackson."

I nod against her, and we just lie there together for the longest time without saying anything. I feel so vulnerable, like I've been cut open and laid bare with my wounds drying in the wind. She's the only thing holding me down, and though I don't know if I should be depending on her as heavily as I do, there's nothing I can do about it. She's the thing in my life that reminds me who I am; who I was before all of this. She's part of my heart.

And now we're having a baby.

I speak my thoughts out loud. "We're having a baby," I whisper, coming to grips with the fact slowly. I lift my head and she wipes the tears from my cheeks, then holds my face with one hand. "We're gonna have a baby," I say again.

"I know," she says, her voice a soft blanket wrapped around me. She smiles sweetly, her eyes twinkling. "A little baby."

"Half you and half me," I say, winding an arm around her waist. She pushes one leg between both of mine and rests it there, leaning her body weight against me.

"It's crazy, isn't it?" she asks. "If you think about where we've been and where we are now."

"Best friends," I say. "Having a baby."

April comes home the next night, prescribed a few days of bedrest until the gash on her forehead and the bruising heals.

"I'm capable of walking, you know," she says, after I bring her face cream from the bathroom.

"I know," I say, sitting down. "But you're not supposed to. The doctor said to rest."

"Well, I'm a doctor, too," she says, putting some lotion on her fingertips before lightly rubbing it into her cheeks, nose and chin. "And I say the distance to the bathroom isn't that far."

I smile a little.

"You just like to pamper me," she says, nudging me with her leg that's under the covers.

"True," I say, capping a hand over her knee. "I just wanna make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," she says. "I promise." She ducks her head to get my attention, and our eyes meet. "Jackson. I promise."

"Okay," I say, though it doesn't even sound convincing to myself.

She sets the face cream on the nightstand and lays down, motioning for me to come and join her. "C'mere," she says, outstretching her arms. "Come kiss me."

I don't overlap her body because I'm acutely aware of the fact that she's pregnant. Even though she's nowhere near close to showing, it doesn't feel right to be squishing her, especially since she just fell down a flight of stairs a couple days ago. She's fragile, and I'm treating her as such.

She can tell, too. "You don't have to be careful with me," she says, tracing the shell of my ear. "I'm not gonna break."

"I… I know, I just…"

"Okay," she says warmly, and gently pushes me to lie on my back so she can lay on top of me. "Is that better?"

I smile and nod, holding her face in my hands as I press my lips to hers. She opens her mouth and sighs against me, and I let my hands skim downwards and tighten on her hips, realizing how much I missed her body and the way it feels. I move my hands further down to squeeze her ass, and feel her smile as she's kissing me.

That's one of my favorite things - that mid-kiss smile. When she just can't hold it back, and I feel her teeth against mine and happiness radiates from her. I love knowing that I'm the one who gave that happiness to her.

"Stop it," she says gently, and I know she doesn't mean it.

Now it's my turn to smile as I feel her hips angle against mine, her knees widening on either side of my body. I smack her butt playfully, and she makes a little sound against my neck as she opens her mouth over my throat, so I do it again.

With a grin, she pulls herself up and sits on my torso, yanking her shirt off along the way. She's wearing a light pink t-shirt bra as she looks down at her boobs, and then over at me.

"Amy and Arizona said they look bigger," she says, leaning forward, which creates more cleavage. Looking at it, I know I'm done for. "What do you think?"

I honestly can't tell if she's really asking or being flirty, and my mind is too clouded with hormones to know the difference.

"Only one way to find out," I say, and unclasp the back with an expert twist of my wrist. She wriggles out of the bra and tosses it behind her, and sits up with her chest on full display. "God," I say, openly staring. "How did I get so lucky?"

She giggles softly and guides my hands up to cover her breasts, and I squeeze them generously. Her hips twitch where they rest on my lower stomach, and my grip tightens, earning me a moan from her.

"That feels so good," she says, overlapping my hands with her own. I rub my thumbs in circles over her nipples and she takes her lower lip in her mouth, eyes darkening as she looks at me. When she moans, she starts with her lips pressed tight together and then opens her mouth, letting her head fall back as I squeeze her breasts harder.

I chuckle a little. "You're not gonna be able to be so loud once the baby comes," I say. "All your noises, you'll wake him right up."

The look in April's eyes changes as she looks at me. Her shoulders bounce with a laugh, and she leans forward so we're nose-to-nose. "What makes you think it's a boy?" she asks, dismounting and cuddling close to my side.

"I don't know," I say, feeling my heart do something funny as we talk about this realistically. I still can't wrap my head around the fact that between us, we've created life. We just can't see it yet. "What do you think it is?"

April rolls over onto her back to expose her still-flat stomach, still shirtless. She lays one hand on it and squints at the ceiling, pretending to get a reading. "A girl," she says. "A healthy little girl."

"Oh, yeah?" I say.

She nods. "Yeah," she says, and rolls towards me again. "And she'll have her daddy's pretty eyes."

I can't stop smiling. I kiss her forehead and pull her closer, and she rests a hand on my chest.

"But she'll be a mama's girl," I say quietly.

"Probably," she replies, stroking my skin with her thumb. "But maybe… after her, we could give her a little sibling. Maybe a brother."

I have no choice in going there. An older girl, a younger brother - the first thought that flits across my mind is the young girl and the infant she was holding, lying on the sand with wide open eyes.

With April at my side, I try and force the vision away. I don't want to slip into a state where I can't control myself with her so close to me. I don't want her to see me like that.

She must notice the tension in my body, or the fact that I've grown silent, because she holds me closer and blinks curiously. "You okay?" she asks.

I try and nod and tell myself that I am. Tell her that I am, even though I know I'm not.

I couldn't protect those kids. That baby couldn't have been more than a year old, and I saw him lying on his stomach in the dirt, looking at me with dead eyes. I grit my teeth and vaguely hear April say my name, but it doesn't pull me back to reality.

"I can't save him," I mutter, my breath coming quicker. April disappears from my side and I taste the sticky flavor of metallic blood in my mouth. I don't think it's my own, either.

There's a warm, damp weight in my grip. As I look to see what I'm holding, I see that I'm wearing army fatigues and they're soaked a deep red, sticking to my skin. My eyes trail down my arms, moving incredibly slowly, until my gaze rests in my hands.

Between them is a small, mutilated body. The body of the infant boy, dead but still screaming. His eyes have rolled back in his head and his mouth is wide open, blood seeping out of it as he shrieks so loud his lungs must be bursting. His skin melts off as I clutch him, exposing raw, yellow bone, and when I drop the body to escape the scalding, burnt skin, the screaming stops instantly.

I've killed him all over again. I know this for a fact as I stare at the heap of flesh, unmoving and silent, before my feet. His limbs are tangled in an unnatural position and he stares unblinking, white eyes focused on nothing but me. I've done this. It was my fault. I could've saved him, and I didn't. I chose not to. I was a coward. I lived and they didn't, I didn't protect them.

I didn't protect children who were strangers to me. How am I going to protect my own baby?

"Jackson," I hear, in the back of my mind. "Jackson, please. I'm right here. Come back, please. Please."

The room fades in slowly then all at once, which makes me jump. I'm shaking as April's hands are gripping my upper arms like vices, and she looks terrified. She's still shirtless, but that's the last thing I'm concentrating on right now.

"It's not real," she says, hands moving up to rest on either side of my neck. "I'm right here, it's not real."

I lift my eyes to meet hers. "It _is_ real," I say, voice trembling along with my entire body. "It is real. They're dead. They're gone, and it's my fault."

"What's your fault?" she asks, stroking my face. Then she ditches her question. "It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. You couldn't, you couldn't do anything. Jackson, you're right here with me."

Red-hot anger boils in my stomach. "That's the problem!" I bellow, and she jolts away while staring at me with wide, watery eyes.

She gasps softly and pulls her arms close to her chest. "What do you mean?" she whimpers.

"I'm here," I say, teeth clenched. "I'm alive." I let out a long, forced breath as I stare down at the pattern on the comforter. It feels impossible to lift my eyes to look at her, but I make myself do it. When I do, I see that she's crying quietly, tears slipping down her cheeks to form paths in their wake. "You don't know," I say. "Don't you understand that it never stops hurting?"

Her voice shakes when she speaks. "I know, honey," she says weakly. "I know."

I shake my head vehemently. She can say those words all she wants, but she'll never get it. She'll never be able to wrap her mind fully around it. And I don't know if I can, either. I don't know if I want to.

I lie down on my side, faced away from her. I can still feel her presence behind me, though, sitting up and watching. Waiting.

"I wanna die," I say, staring blankly at the wall. It's the first time I've said the words out loud and mean them. I expected them to hold more gravity, but to me they don't.

It's simply a fact.

"Jackson…" she says, and I'm glad I can't see her face. It would break me, it would make me feel too guilty for speaking the truth.

"I want to be in a place where there's no pain," I say, just as simply. "Where I stop feeling like this." I can hear the tears in my voice, but they're not there because I'm sad over what I'm saying. They're there because I feel relieved; I've finally pinpointed how I feel. This would all be easier if I'd died over there. It would be easier now if I just… disappeared.

April's nearly hysterical. Her tone is high and desperate when she says, "But if you went away, you wouldn't be with me and the baby anymore. Jackson," she says, voice breaking as she sobs. "You'd leave a hole in my heart."

"I'm sorry, Angel," I say, still faced the other way. "I don't want to make you sad… I just want it to be over."

I can't contain myself anymore. I break down sobbing, my whole body racking with their power. Moments after, I feel April's body wrap around mine and hold me tightly, as tight as she can, with her face pressed to the back of my neck. I feel her tears on my skin, and we cry together.

We both know I won't go through with anything; it'd hurt me just as much to leave her as it does to stay. But for tonight, there's no fixing. There's no covering the wound with a bandage. Tonight, together, we're stripped bare and open, ravaged by the pain.


	11. Chapter 11

**APRIL**

Jackson cries himself to sleep, but I'm not as lucky. I lie there awake, watching his face and hunting for his demons.

He'd fallen asleep with me spooning him, but rolled over after a few minutes. He always sleeps better on his left side anyway, and I like it better this way. There's not much to study on the back of his head, but plenty on his face.

I inhale shakily and smooth my thumb over the creases on his forehead. As I move, they flatten out and his expression frees up, and to eliminate the last one between his eyebrows, I press my lips to it slowly. His skin is warm and familiar, so I linger with lasting intimacy.

I wish he were awake, but I'm glad he's not. He needs to rest.

While he's sleeping, I can look at him without being being made fun of for staring, which I like. My eyes follow the trail of freckles across the bridge of his nose, finding the darker ones and wishing I could kiss them without waking him. But I don't - I keep my distance - and touch only with my eyes.

It's hard to believe that something that looks so perfect on the outside can be so tortured on the inside.

As I exhale, I involuntarily let out a sad-sounding whimper. It's soft, but there. My heart hurts for him; I just want there to be something I can do. I feel helpless, drowning in my love for him while he's drowning in a sea of memories he can't forget. They've latched onto him so tightly, and my dutifulness isn't enough to rip them away.

He needs help. Serious help. I know that. But I hate the feeling of not being enough.

My life without him, if I never knew him, is not something I'd trade this for. I'd probably still be a surgeon, but most likely I'd be married to someone else and not living in Kalamazoo.

I stayed here for him. I only dated casually for him.

All this time, I've been subconsciously waiting for the only man I've ever truly loved.

But without him, what would I be? What kind of person would I have grown into from a friendless and lonely child? He was my other half growing up, the one who taught me that it was okay to stand up for myself, the one who did it when I couldn't.

I'd be half the woman I am today if I had never known him. I rest my hand on the side of his neck and silently tell him that he changed my life for the better. I'd never want to know an existence without him breathing next to me.

 _We were at the Homecoming game when we were 16. It was late October, a cool fall night, and I had no idea what was going on with the game, but Jackson was enjoying himself._

 _I was enjoying the snacks he bought me; M &Ms, cotton candy and a big tub of popcorn. I was all bundled up in his hoodie and we had a thick blanket wrapped around us that I was hogging._

 _"Our team sucks," he said, smiling over at me. "Hey. Give me some blue ones."_

 _I popped a handful of M &Ms into my mouth. "You know, they all taste the time," I said, but dug through the bag anyway to find the color he wanted._

 _"Say it all you want, maybe it'll come true," he said, snickering as he dumped the blue ones into his mouth. "Yum."_

 _"All I know about football is that the quarterback is the best position," I said._

 _"Oh, yeah?" he said. "Why's that?"_

 _I shrugged. "It's the one you always hear them talk about in the movies and stuff."_

 _He snorted and elbowed me. "Since when are you allowed to watch sports movies?"_

 _I laughed. "Got me there."_

 _He looked thoughtfully at the football field, where the two teams were huddled and talking amongst themselves. "My guess is that if Jesus played football, he'd definitely be the quarterback."_

 _I laughed loudly. "Jackson!" I exclaimed. "You can't say stuff like that."_

 _His eyes twinkled. "Why not? It's a compliment."_

 _I turned to the side and ripped the plastic off the cotton candy before taking a big bite. "You just can't," I said._

 _"Gimme a bite," he said._

 _I extended the twirl of spun sugar at him._

 _"Are you crazy?" he said. "Pink side. It's like you don't even know me at all."_

 _I rolled my eyes and flipped it around, and he took a big bite of the pink side. His eyes got squinty like they did when he was really happy, and I couldn't help but match his smile. "Love you," he said in a singsong voice._

 _"Yeah, yeah," I said, but my eyes told him that I loved him, too._

 _A while later, we got up from our seats on the bleachers to take a bathroom break. We split into our respective bathrooms and I was washing my hands when an intimidating presence came through the door and made herself known. Callie Torres, one of my worst bullies, second only to Alex Karev._

 _"Hey, Kepner," she said, looking at herself in the mirror. I always avoided my reflection, especially in the presence of other, prettier girls. It only hurt to compare myself. "Where's your boyfriend?"_

 _My face got hot and I stared at the white porcelain of the sink. "He's not my boyfriend," I muttered._

 _"There's no shame in it," Callie said, fluffing her hair. "It's a good thing. He's sexy ever since puberty got to him. You're a lucky lady."_

 _"He's not…" I said, voice trailing off._

 _"You two done the deed yet?" she asked, looking over. I didn't need to respond for her to know the answer - she knew before she posed the question. "Aw, no? Not yet?" She made a fake-pouty face. "Maybe not ever, right?" She turned completely towards me and chuckled. "Because Jackson can keep you around for the company, but when he wants to get his dick wet, he'll find a real woman. That's right, isn't it?"_

 _My cheeks burned red. That thought had crossed my mind way too many times to count. I didn't know how she looked at me and dug it out without even trying._

 _"Poor little Kepner," she said. "Always the best friend, never the lover."_

 _I clenched my fists. "It's not like that," I said._

 _She raised her eyebrows, surprised at my outburst. "It speaks," she said. "Speak, little doggie. Speak! What else do you have to say?"_

 _"Jackson's my best friend," I said. "And you don't know anything about us. So leave me alone."_

 _"Ooh…" she said, a sly smile still in her eyes. "I hit it right on the head, didn't I? You want him."_

 _I shake my head, teeth gritted. I had no more words to defend myself - I'd used them all up._

 _"Get it through your head, little girl. He'll never want you." She scoffed. "A bag of bones with a mop on top. What self-respecting man would want that?"_

 _My shoulders hunched in towards each other. I felt myself getting smaller and smaller in her presence. I didn't know what I could say to get her off my back, but I wanted it to be something. I didn't want to stand here and take the abuse any longer. I'd dealt with it for a long time, through elementary, middle and high school. It was about time that it stopped. My mom said that God would do something about it, make them tired of teasing me. Jackson said it needed to be more than that._

 _I didn't want him to save me. I wanted Callie to know that I could save myself._

 _I just wasn't sure how._

 _"Your best bet is probably to become a nun," she continued, having still been speaking while I was lost in my head. "Dreaming about Jackson day and night, just like you do now. Thinking how it would feel when he kissed you, touched you-"_

 _"I said, leave me alone!" I shouted, and shoved her shoulders so I could storm past her and out of the bathroom. When I was standing outside, my chest was heaving with exertion and I saw Jackson standing nearby, waiting for me._

 _"Hey," he said. "Y'alright?"_

 _I set my shoulders straight. "I just pushed Callie Torres, so she's probably gonna kill me."_

 _We started walking faster, away from the bathrooms, away from the game and towards the parking lot where everyone was headed. The game was over and the dance would start soon. The dance I wasn't allowed to attend, but I hadn't told Jackson that yet._

 _"What did you do?" he asked, once we were away from the big crowd of people. "What happened in there?"_

 _Telling him about what she said about the way I felt was just as embarrassing as it being true. There was no way I was letting him in on the details._

 _"She was making fun of me," I said. "The usual. And I was tired of standing there and taking it, so I pushed her and left."_

 _His eyes widened. "Holy shit, Angel. I'm proud of you."_

 _I beamed. I literally felt like I was being warmed from the inside out. He was proud of me._

 _I didn't make a big deal of it, though._

 _"It was about time," I mumbled, downplaying. "I just hope she doesn't come back worse."_

 _We walked a little further, then our attention turned to the school where all the lights were on and people were filing inside to dance. "Hey," he said, wringing his hands. "Um… wanna go?"_

 _Was he actually asking me to the dance? With him? Like that? Or was he just asking me to the dance like we would walk in the doors together and hang out like always? Was this a date thing, or just because we happened to always be together?_

 _I told myself I was being stupid. Who else would he go to the dance with? I was his best friend. But that was it. Best friend. And anyway, I couldn't go. My mom told me to be home directly after the dance. And if I disobeyed her, I wouldn't see Jackson for a long time. I'd be grounded until Christmas._

 _"I can't," I said, dejectedly._

 _"What?" he said._

 _I looked at him with a disappointed expression. "My mom said no," I admitted._

 _"Aw, shit," he said, then looked back at the school._

 _I didn't want to keep him from doing what he wanted, though, so I said, "If you wanna go, you should. I can walk home. It's not that far."_

 _Interrupting his reply, a group of guys passed by and a voice stuck out, saying, "Hey guys! See you in there!" It was George O'Malley, my lab partner in chemistry and Jackson's partner in gym._

 _We just waved._

 _"I'm not going without you," he said, turning back to me._

 _"Why not?" I asked, shoving my hands into my front hoodie pocket. "I don't care."_

 _A knowing smile snuck onto his face as he stepped closer to me. "You do so care," he said._

 _"No," I said, voice getting higher. "I don't. If you wanna go to the dance, then you should. I think that would really make… what's her name, Maggie Pierce or whatever, happy."_

 _He scoffed and raised his eyebrows. "Who do you think you're fooling right now?"_

 _I shook my head nonchalantly. "I'm not, I'm just saying that you-"_

 _"I'm not going anywhere without you," he said. "And I don't give a shit about Maggie Pierce."_

 _"Well, she gives one about you…" I grumbled, under my breath._

 _"Good for her," he said. "Hope she has fun with that." I lifted my eyes from the asphalt to see that he was looking at me with amusement and interest. "But you and me, we're gonna dance."_

 _"I told you," I said, eyes wide. "I can't. My mom will kill me when I get home if I'm late."_

 _"You won't be late…" he said, and opened the driver's side door of his car to turn the radio on. The first notes of Justin Timberlake's 'Cry Me A River' blared, but Jackson stopped them as he found a mix CD in the center console and popped it in. Instead of 'Cry Me A River,' Train's 'Calling All Angels' came on instead. He looked at me, eyes still glinting, and shut the door. "Hey, would you look at that…" he said. "It's your song."_

 _He took my hands and set them on his shoulders and I couldn't help my smile, even as I tried to calm it by biting my lower lip._

 _"There's that smile…" Jackson said, hands locked around my waist._

 _He mouthed the words to me after the chorus, then sang them once they got louder._

 _"I won't give up, if you don't give up…" he sang, and I rolled my eyes playfully. He couldn't sing worth his life, but my heart was hammering so hard._

 _It wasn't dancing. It wasn't anything like eighth grade, we barely swayed. But we stood there in the parking lot with my favorite song in the background and looked into each other's eyes and felt like the only people in the world for those four minutes and two seconds._

 _Once the song was over, he pulled me close for a tight hug. I buried my face in his neck and breathed, recognizing his faint cologne and boy smell._

 _"Let me take you home," he said, and I nodded against him._

 _The next morning, I was woken up by a knock on my bedroom door. It opened seconds later and my mother appeared, her face wearing an expression that I couldn't read._

 _"April, wake up. I have some sad news for you, honey," she said, sitting down on the edge of my bed._

 _My mind immediately went to Jackson, though I didn't know why. But it turned out that it wasn't him at all._

 _"Your classmate, George," she began, and the image of George romping through the parking lot with his friends last night flashed through my mind. "He died. He committed suicide and they found him this morning."_

 _I gasped, my back hitting my headboard. I had just seen him hours ago. It couldn't be true. Someone I knew, dead. It didn't seem possible._

 _"How?" I asked._

 _Mom gave me a harsh look. "That's the Lord's business," she scolded, and I nodded demurely._

 _But when Jackson and I were sitting in a pew during George's service a few days later, everyone knew how it happened. He hanged himself after his parents caught him with another boy and threatened to ship him off to military school. He died before they could do it._

 _Jackson and I walked together after the service was over, dressed in black, faces turned down. We had nowhere to go, but the fresh air did us good. I needed stability, so Jackson offered his arm and I took it._

 _"I can't believe he's gone," I murmured once we stopped. We sat down on a bench in the cemetery, arms still linked._

 _"I know," he replied, equally as quiet._

 _"We just saw him," I said. "You know? It… I don't know. It's so scary how someone can be here, then gone. Just like that."_

 _"He killed himself," Jackson said bluntly._

 _I recoiled a bit. "I know," I said. "Everyone knows."_

 _He sighed, deep in thought. I could always tell when he was deep in thought. "It just seems like there had to be another way," he said. "He could've gone and lived with someone else in his family who accepted him."_

 _"Maybe no one did," I said._

 _Jackson looked at me defiantly. "He had people who loved him," he said, eyebrows low. "He had to know that."_

 _"We don't know what he knew," I said. "We have no idea what he was going through."_

 _Neither of us budged. "He shouldn't have done it," he said._

 _I didn't feel the same way. Of course, he needed help. But on the surface, it was impossible to know what was going on. The blame Jackson was placing on him was a mistake. He was gone, that was wrong._

 _Everyone had their reasons._

Remembering that now, I find myself vehemently disagreeing with my past self. Suicide is the means to an end, the end-all-be-all. There's no going back. You leave people behind who didn't even know you were suffering.

Looking at Jackson, my throat clogs with tears. I won't let him slip away from me.

In the morning, I wake with a start. I'm lying on my back, which I normally don't do, and Jackson has one arm wrapped around my waist. He's on his stomach, face in the pillow, yet still keeping me close.

I touch his forearm to try and gently lift it off so I can get up and get ready, but he solidly keeps it where it is, which tells me he's awake. I run my hand over his skin and wonder if it's a good idea for me to go into work and leave him here alone today. After what happened last night, I'm not sure what he's capable of. Or if he's stable enough to be alone.

"Good morning," I say softly, turning on my side to face him.

He grunts in response.

"How long have you been awake?"

I see him shrug, then his face lifts from the pillow. His eyes are puffy from last night, and it makes my heart twist with pain. "Just a little bit," he says. "How did you sleep?"

I don't know how he can be asking me that so casually like our previous conversation never happened, like he never admitted to me, mere hours ago, that he'd rather be dead. I clear my throat and furrow my eyebrows, shaking my head slightly. "Not that good," I say.

"Oh," he says, and I roll onto my back again. Jackson scoots closer and rests his head in the crook of my shoulder, and I wrap both my arms around him and kiss his hairline. "I love you," he says, voice squished as his cheeks are slack pressed against me.

I smile sadly. "I love you, too," I say, lips moving against his scalp. There's a long silence before I say, "I think I'll stay home from work today."

I feel his forehead move curiously. "Why?" he asks. "You've taken a lot of days off." He moves and props himself up on his elbow. "April, you don't have to keep doing that for me."

"I-I'm not," I say, frantically searching for an excuse. "It's not because of that. I just… I have a lot of sick days to use up. And-"

"You're a surgeon," he says. "Shouldn't you be treating people instead of using your sick days willy-nilly?"

"This isn't willy-nilly," I say, tone darkening. "I want to stay-"

"You're worried about what I might do," he says, combatively. "That's why you wanna stay. You wanna monitor me, put me on suicide watch." He flips the covers off and stomps across the room. "I don't need a babysitter, April, goddamnit. I'm not gonna do anything. Just go to work."

I look at him, feeling wounded, as he slams the door of the bathroom. I sit there with the covers at my waist, staring at the spot he vacated. After the sadness and surprise comes red-hot anger, though. I guess I'm going to work.

I'm in the conference room, concentrated on paperwork, when Amelia comes in.

"You hungry?" she asks.

I look up from my work for the first time in hours, and the creak in my neck shows it. I squint at the clock and see that it's almost 2, and I've missed lunch.

"I brought you turkey," she says, holding out a sandwich in a plastic container.

"Sure," I say, and even I hear how tired my voice sounds. "Thanks."

"You okay?" she asks, sitting down and opening the lid to her salad.

I shrug and open my lid, too. I take a bite of the sandwich and barely taste it. My mind is elsewhere.

"What's wrong?" she prompts.

I set the sandwich back in its container and sigh, pushing my paperwork off to the side. "It's Jackson," I say, still chewing.

"Oh," she says, nodding. Her eyes dart this way and that as she decides what to say next. "Is he getting bad again?"

"He never got better," I admit. "He'd need to get better to get bad. He…" I shake my head. "He needs help that I can't give him. I have no idea what I'm doing."

I feel her eyes on me as I stare down at the wood grains in the table. "What about the therapist he's seeing?"

I shrug. "I know it's too early to expect results," I say. "But I don't know if we picked the right one. It just doesn't feel right." I look up towards the ceiling to fight tears. "I know that sounds stupid, but I can feel it in my gut. That it's not right."

"Your instincts are never stupid," Amelia says. "If you feel that way, then you're probably right."

We're quiet for a moment; I'm comforted by her words, but they do nothing to fix my situation. Part of me wants to tell her what he said, but the other part wants to keep that locked up inside for only Jackson and me to know. I don't want her to overreact or look at him differently. I don't want her to think he's a loose cannon. He's Jackson, my Jackson, I know he'd never do anything like that. But she doesn't know him like I do. She wouldn't understand.

"You know, Owen goes to these group therapy sessions," Amelia says. "They're held at the community center, over in Portage. It's like a recovery group, basically. Men and women who came back from war with PTSD and who need a safe place to talk about it. Owen really likes it. The leader of the group is this really cool lady; her name is Teddy Altman. I can give you her number, if you want."

I meet her eyes and see how hard she's trying. It might be a valid thought, group therapy. I never knew that it existed for Jackson's type of problem.

"Maybe it would help Jackson to have a familiar face there," she continues. "Owen goes once a week. I know they're not friends or anything, but… I don't know. They could be."

I nod, taking the business card that she digs out of her wallet. "I appreciate it," I say quietly.

"And spouses can come, too," she says. "Significant others, I mean. We're allowed to go with them." She smiles encouragingly. "Like a security blanket. I know that's something Jackson would like, having you there."

My lips twitch as they try and smile. "Yeah," I say. "I'll… I'll see what he thinks. Thanks, Amy."

"Anything I can do to help," she says. "I know how it is. You feel powerless."

I meet her eyes and mine well up with tears. "Yeah," I say, voice breaking.

"It's okay," she says. "You guys will get through it."

When I get home and open the front door that evening, I'm a little nervous.

"Jackson?" I call out, trying to be nonchalant. I know in my heart he didn't do anything rash today, but the paranoid part of me just wants to make sure.

"Living room," I hear, and let out half the breath I'd been holding.

I set my stuff down and make my way to him, seeing the TV on as he rests on the couch with his feet up.

"Hi," I say tentatively, standing behind him.

He turns around and looks at me over his shoulder. "Hey," he says, and mutes the sound.

I sit down on the ottoman across from him and he straightens up, putting his feet on the floor to face me. "How was your day?" I ask.

"Good," he answers dryly. "Yours?"

"Fine," I say, wringing my hands.

He sighs, bouncing his knee. There's a long pause before he speaks again. "It was on my mind all day," he says. "How I acted this morning. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lash out at you. You… you had a right to be worried because of what I said last night. So, I'm sorry."

I chew the inside of my lip and nod. "Thank you," I say.

"You're never the person I wanna hurt when I get like that," he says. "And I hate when it happens. I hate…" He grits his teeth. "I hate that I'm like this. I hate it so much."

I touch the edges of the business card in my hands. "I… I was talking to Amelia today," I say. "She suggested something new for you to try."

Jackson's eyebrows crinkle. "You told her about what happened last night?"

"No," I say, quickly. "I didn't give any details. But she's been my friend for years, Jackson. She can tell when something's wrong. And she knows what's going on at home; Owen went through the same thing."

He stands up. "It's not the same thing."

"Well, of course it's not. But you know what I mean. When something is wrong, she can usually assume what it is."

"I get that I'm a burden," he snaps, snapping his head to look away from me. "I know that me being here is stressful for you. But the fact that you and your friends talk about it at work doesn't make me feel that great."

"Jackson, no," I say, hearing the desperation in my voice. "That's not it at all. You're not a burden to me, you're… no. You're so far off. I love you, you know that. You're not a burden."

He sits down on the arm of the couch, looking unconvinced.

"And we don't sit around and talk about you," I say. "The only reason Amelia brought it up today is because she suggested this therapy that Owen goes to, and she thinks it might be able to help you, too."

He eyes me suspiciously. "I already go to therapy and it doesn't do shit," he says. "It only makes things worse."

"This is different," I say. "This is a group."

"No," he says, immediately. "No way. I'm not gonna sit in a circle and listen to other people vent about their first-world problems, and-"

"Not like that," I snap. "If you'd let me talk, I'd be able to tell you."

Responding to my tone, he shuts his mouth.

"They're all veterans, too," I say. "Victims of PTSD, just like you. People who understand you. I looked it up online; even the leader of the group is a war veteran. She was over in Iraq, too, for a while. You'd be among people who understand your old lifestyle and know how to listen to you." When I pause, he doesn't insert himself, which tells me he's absorbing this. "For the first few sessions, you don't even have to say anything. You can just listen. Amelia goes with Owen every week, that's another thing. I can go with you. You don't have to be alone in a small room with a stranger." I take in a deep breath. "This is more on your terms. You control what you do and don't share, and when you want to share it. When you feel comfortable. And if you want, Dr. Altman will hold one-on-one sessions with you if you don't feel comfortable sharing some things with the group."

He looks at me for a long time, hands braced on his knees. I match his eyes, wondering what he's thinking as he stares at me.

"It's not gonna be like some fucked-up double date, is it?" he asks. "Owen and Amelia, me and you, all at therapy together?"

I snort. "No, definitely not," I say.

He looks at the floor, hands now folded together, and nods slowly before looking back up. "Okay," he says. "Okay. I'll go."

Hope rises in my chest and plants itself there, exuding light like a halo. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he agrees.

Jackson's grip is tight on mine as we walk through the parking lot towards the welcoming building. "You good?" I ask him, squeezing his hand as I look up at his face.

He nods, giving me a slight smile, as we make it to the door. He'd warmed up to the idea of group therapy about a week and a half ago, and today is his first official session.

"Hey, guys," I hear once we go through the glass double doors. I look to the left and see Owen and Amelia sitting on a wooden bench, rising to meet us. "Glad you could make it." Amy gives me a big hug and holds tight. "Good to see you."

I don't mention the fact that we saw each other at work mere hours ago. I know what she means; it's good to see me here, specifically, with a nervous man at my side.

"Hey, Jackson," Owen says, sauntering up and sticking his hand out. Jackson shakes it and gives him a nod. "I promise, you're not gonna regret coming. Dr. Altman is the best around. All of us have really different experiences, but somehow she makes us feel like we're not alone. And you don't have to feel singled out - there are new people almost every session. The group number is pretty variable, with the same core people who always come. Including us."

"Hopefully that'll be us, too," I say, giving Owen a warm look.

Jackson rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, something he always does when he's anxious. "I wanted to say thank you," he says. "For telling April about this. And for welcoming me here."

Amelia waves him off. "Oh, don't mention it," she says. "We're friends. That's how I roll." She smiles at me. "Once you're in, you're in for good. But Jackson…" She touches his wrist gently and looks into his eyes. "If you don't like it, don't feel pressured to stay because of us. If it's not for you, don't worry about it."

I watch his face as he agrees with her, feeling proud of something he hasn't even done yet.

"Should we go in, then?" Owen says, ushering us all forward and into a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a green forest outside. I'm quiet as we find four chairs to sit in among the circle, and Jackson lets go of my hand as he gets comfortable.

I try not to make it obvious as I watch him, but I can't help it. He looks confident and sure of himself, like the Jackson I know. Here, he's an entirely different person than he was in the other counselor's office, quiet and shrunk into himself. I like this version of him much better.

Dr. Altman is a slight, blonde-haired woman, but when she walks into the room her presence is palpable and comforting, even to me who doesn't need the comfort. Her smile is bright and welcoming, along with her eyes.

"Evening, everyone," she says, sitting down and pulling out a legal pad of paper. "I hope everyone's days were good, or at least bearable." She smiles at herself. "I had one for the books, that's for sure. But we're all here now, and that's what matters. And we have new faces with us. Everyone, this is Jackson Avery and his wife, April."

My face flushes. Over the phone, I never called myself 'wife' in relation to Jackson; in fact, I can't remember what I said. She must have just assumed, and I wonder what Jackson thinks about that. When I look at him, I can't read his expression through the cordial smile he's giving everyone who's looking at us.

Per Dr. Altman's request, he gives a little information about himself. What wars he fought in, how long he was deployed, and when he returned. She asks for the bare minimum to begin with; she doesn't push or pry, she just listens intently, eyes never leaving Jackson as he speaks. The rest of the group is attentive, too - no one is distracted or impatient.

I hang on his every word, listening to him talk about his time overseas fondly in a way I've never noticed. For the majority if the time he spent over there, he felt like he was where he was supposed to be. I have my own thoughts about war and whether or not there's a necessity for it, but they don't come into play here. Right now, I'm witnessing an inner layer of Jackson come out and shine through his eyes, like I'm being allowed to see a little bit of what turned him into the person he is today. There's so much of his life that I missed, and I feel like I'm getting a large dose of it right now, in this setting. It has the propensity to be overwhelming, but it's not. Instead, I feel enveloped and enlightened by this information he's sharing. It's like getting to know him all over again.

Once he's done, people chime in with their own similarities they've found from his stories. They all must know he purposefully left out what brings him here to this room today, but no one says anything. They're all in the same boat. They know persuading someone to unleash their demons never works out the way in which you intended. Healing works best when given time. I should know that better than anyone; mental and physical healing aren't so much different when it comes right down to it.

After the session is over, Dr. Altman approaches Jackson as he stands talking to two other men and I let them be. I even go so far as to leave the room, not wanting to eavesdrop on the conversation, and wait outside the door for him to finish.

"I think it went well," I say to Amelia, who's lingering by the door as she waits for Owen. "He seems happy. Happier than I've seen him."

She glances in, seeing Jackson talk with Dr. Altman. "He's smiling," she says warmly. "I don't know if I've seen him smile before."

I look in, too, and feel my chest expand as I see the sparkle that reaches his eyes. He really is happy. I'd know that look on him anywhere.

"Thank you," I say, giving the words the weight they deserve. "I can't thank you enough. This is just the first session and he looks like this, I…" I sigh. "I don't know what I can say."

"You don't need to say anything," Amelia says.

Suddenly, I feel arms around my waist and I break out in a huge grin. Jackson tucks his face into the side of my neck from behind and rocks us both from foot to foot, and I press my body back against him.

"Hi," I say, feeling his lips on my skin. "You done in there?"

"Mmm-hmm," he says, squeezing me tighter.

I give Owen and Amelia a look and a little wave, and they bid us goodbye as they walk out the door. Jackson and I linger inside by the windows, wrapped up in each other.

"She called you my wife," he says, and now we're face-to-face. "Did you…?"

"I didn't," I say.

He smirks and kisses me, holding the back of my head firmly in one hand. "I kinda liked it," he murmurs against my lips.

"You did?" I ask, snaking my arms around his waist so we're flush against each other.

He nods. "You might as well be," he says. "We live together and you're pregnant with our beautiful little baby."

My cheeks are burning with emotion. All at once, I'm overcome with a wave of gratitude from the fact that everything I'm holding in my hands is mine to keep.

"We'll get there," I say, tipping my head back and letting my eyes roam his face. I trace the swell of his lower lip and he kisses the pad of my finger, and my heart does a somersault in my chest.

His happiness is contagious.

On the way home, we're driving on Westnedge Avenue with the radio playing loudly and I'm humming along, stealing glances at Jackson when I can. He's smiling, watching the buildings we're passing with his window halfway down.

"Hey, pull in here," he says, tipping his head to the right.

"What's in here?" I ask, turning the wheel anyway. It's a strip mall that I sometimes find myself at on Saturdays when I have nothing better to do

He points out the window to the store in the middle. Babies R Us.

"I was thinking… we should…" He looks at me, waiting for me to read his mind.

"You wanna look at baby stuff?" I ask, feeling giddiness spread through my body and reach my face, where I break out in a huge smile. "Really?"

He shrugs and mirrors my cheesy grin. "I'm happy," he says. "I'm excited for… for the first time in forever." He grips my hand and squeezes. "We're gonna do this. We might as well start somewhere."

I place my free hand over my belly and squeeze his hand right back with my other. "Okay, Daddy," I say, and he bites his lower lip and lets the corners of his mouth turn down in a heartfelt expression. "Let's go inside."

We're completely overwhelmed with baby stuff once we walk through the front doors; everywhere we look there's something else we'll need. A crib, changing table, wall decorations, paint, curtains, outfits, shoes, diapers, pacifiers, bibs, bottles… it's so much.

"Maybe we should start small," I say, keeping one arm wrapped around my stomach and using the other to rest on the small of Jackson's back. "And come back later with a list and a budget."

He nods, taking it all in, too. "I never knew one little human could need so much," he says, trailing his fingers along the bars of a display crib. "We're gonna need to take out a loan for this little munch."

I hug his side closer and jostle him, and we both laugh. "Let's pick the outfit that they'll come home in," I say, running his shirt between my fingers. "That can be like, our first official thing."

He nods, solidifying it, and we make our way to the clothes section.

"This stuff is so freakin' tiny," I hear him say from a few racks over as he holds up a plain white onesie.

"That's how little our baby is gonna be," I say, smoothing my thumb over my stomach. "Can you believe that?"

"Barely," he says, then holds up a long-sleeved pink onesie with white flowers decorating it. "What about this?"

"We need more gender neutral," I say, combing through pale blues and yellows. "Not that I consider myself a gender conformist, but I think we should shoot more for middle ground until we know for sure what we're having."

"True," he says, then comes to join me on the table I'm looking at where a variety of different choices are folded. We rifle through them together and make a pile of our favorites, and end up choosing a white one with the words 'tiny & treasured' written in classy cursive, paired with soft yellow pants.

"He or she will love it," Jackson says, kissing my temple as we walk back out to the car.

After dinner, we're on the couch with the TV on low - Jackson sitting up and me with my head on his thigh, the onesie resting on my chest. I run my hand over the soft fabric and close my eyes, unable to keep the gentle smile off my face. I can hardly believe that in about 7 or 8 short months, we'll be sitting in this exact same position, but with a little baby body filling this onesie.

I open my eyes and find Jackson already watching me. I giggle softly, keeping my fingers on the tiny piece of clothing until I reach up to touch his chin. "You're gonna be a daddy," I whisper.

He traces his thumb over my eyebrow and I can see a million thoughts swimming behind his eyes.

"What?" I ask, taking his hand and resting it against my cheek.

He wets his lips before he speaks. "I'm sorry," he says, the words holding weight.

"For what?" I ask, forehead crinkling.

"For… a lot of things," he says thoughtfully, stroking my skin. "For scaring you when I get lost in my head. For being stubborn sometimes, for…" He sighs, scanning the room as he thinks. "For everything I've ever done to hurt you."

"You don't need to apologize," I say, holding his wrist.

"I do, though," he says. "I never wanted to be the one to hurt you. And I know I have."

"But I know-"

He meets my eyes. "Just accept it, okay?" he says, smiling.

I return it. "Okay," I say.

We make it up to bed later and Jackson still hasn't lost that light quality about him. We haven't been intimate for almost two weeks, and tonight is a cause for celebration. I don't want to go to sleep without touching him, or without him touching me for that matter.

"Jackson…" I say, sauntering up behind him and sliding my hands around his waist to land on the tie of his sweatpants.

"What are you up to?" he asks, though I'm sure he knows without my answer.

I press my forehead between his shoulder blades. "I want to," I say. "Do you?"

He chuckles once. "You do realize who you're asking, right?"

I slip my hands on his stomach below his shirt and run them over his muscles, feeling them tense when I head further south.

"Can you do me a little favor?" I ask, feeling a bit nervous. I've had something on my mind that I've never been brave enough to ask any of the handful of men I've slept with - mostly because I didn't trust them like I trust him. "Can we do something… a little different?"

He meets my eyes in the mirror and I come around to stand at his side, then tug him out of the room by the wrist. He follows me, still confused, as I brace my hands on the footboard of our bed and lean forward just slightly.

"Like this," I say, then look over my shoulder. His eyes are hungry and dark, just like I hoped.

"God, you…" he murmurs, then he pushes my sweatpants down my legs so they pool around my feet. My underwear aren't sexy in the slightest, but he makes me feel like they are when he tugs them mercilessly slowly over the swell of my thighs until they hit the floor. "Mmm."

My shirt comes next. He pulls it off over my head and I'm bared completely naked before him, bent over and ready. But he takes his time with me. He leans forward, overlapping my body with his own, and presses slow, wet kisses to the middle of my back.

"So many freckles," he says, lips moving on my skin.

My fingers' grip on the wood tightens as his mouth moves lower, centering on the dimples at the small of my back. When he digs his teeth into the round of my ass, my eyes widen and I gasp, twitching as I feel his hand slip between my legs from behind.

He pats it as he stands up straight again, and rubs against me like a cat so I can feel his hard-on through his pants. "You know I love this," he says, squeezing it for effect.

I bite my lower lip and wonder if I should ask. I don't want him to think it's weird or that I'm going too far, even though it's something that I've always thought would turn me on. I just have never found the right person to do it, and now I have.

"You can hit harder," I mutter, not fully confident.

"Hmm?" he says, and I hear the soft sound of his pants joining mine on the floor.

I take in a deep breath and remind myself that he's my best friend. He's never judged me for anything prior to this, and hopefully he won't start now. Knowing him and what he just said, he'll probably like it, too.

"You can spank me," I say, and feel my face flush. It's out there. There's no taking it back now. If he thinks I'm a freak, so be it. But I've come to realize that in the bedroom, a good Christian woman is the last role I want to play.

"For real?" he asks, totally bewildered. He turns my shoulders to look at my face, and I see that his eyes hold real concern. "I don't wanna hurt you."

I shake my head and my hair falls around my face as I turn back around. "You won't hurt me," I say. "I-I want it. I've just never known how to ask. If it hurts, I'll tell you to stop. Just…" I sigh. "I want it."

He presses more kisses on my back, and I arch it with desire. I know that I'm wet and ready, but I want him to take his time and feel comfortable, too.

"If you don't want-"

Cutting me off, his palm meets my ass with a resounding slap, and I lurch even further forward from how good it feels.

"Like that?" he asks, voice sounding a little cautious.

I nod shakily, as best I can. Right now, there's so much electricity jolting to my core, and he hasn't even gone inside me yet. My eyelashes flutter and I take in a deep breath. "Yes," I say. "More."

"You…" he chuckles, never finishing his thought as he positions himself between my legs. As he enters me, I feel my inner muscles expand and contract around him, fluttering as I get used to his body inside mine.

His hand lands on me again, and I bite my lower lip as I moan. "Like that," I breathe, rocking forward with his movements. He yanks my hips closer so there's no space between our bodies, and keeps one hand wrapped around my waistline to keep me in place.

By the time I come, my ass is hot and stinging with a pain I didn't know could be so pleasant. I'm lying on my stomach on our bed, panting and sweating, but welcome Jackson greedily when he crawls on top of me.

"Do you think the baby saw that?" he asks, soft voice tumbling over the back of my neck.

I shake my head. "Too tiny," I breathe.

"Good," he says, rocking back to rest his weight on his heels. "Because then I wouldn't be able to keep going."

I smile to myself and close my eyes when I feel his hands on my ass, gentle and soothing in comparison to what we just did. He rubs the muscle in slow circles, squeezing the flesh in his hands before bending and kissing the dimples on my lower back again.

"Did you like it?" he asks.

"I didn't know it'd make me come like that," I say. "I didn't know I'd like it… that much."

He laughs. "I never expected you to be so willing in the bedroom," he says. "When we were younger… I never would've…" He doesn't finish his sentence before flipping me over and exposing the front of my sweaty, naked body.

"I know," I say, smiling lazily at him as he gets comfortable between my legs. "But would you have imagined that we'd be together? Like this?"

He shakes his head and his eyes crinkle with a smile of their own. "No," he says, kissing the insides of my kneecaps.

"But I love you," I say, running my fingers through his short curls. "I love you more than I ever thought I could."

"Mmm," he moans, kissing higher and spreading my thighs. "I love you so much."

He pushes himself up higher and rests his cheek on my belly, drawing nonsense shapes with the pad of his pointer finger. He doesn't need to explain himself, I know exactly what he's doing. I smile when he turns his head and presses deliberate kisses all over the skin of my stomach, taking his time in letting both me and the baby know how loved we are. And I do know. Love floods my entire body as I look at him and know he's improving, know that he's making his way back to me.

We both come again with my body pressed tight under his, every inch touching. His head is buried in my neck, mouth open on my pulse, sucking the skin between his teeth as his hips pump against my own. I hold him tight, any looser isn't an option, and kiss whatever open part of his body I can reach.

As our sweat mixes and we both come unwound while letting unintelligible words tumble out of our mouths, I've never felt more complete. More full. More loved. As I hold him close and feel the trust between us strengthen, I know we're going to be okay. I know that, for at least today, everything is where it's supposed to be.

Maybe it won't be like this next week, or even tomorrow. But it is for right now. And right now is all I can control, so I close my eyes and soak up every moment of it that I can.


	12. Chapter 12

JACKSON

By the time April is eight weeks pregnant, it's the end of October. The days have gotten darker and colder, the falling leaves matching the color of her hair.

Today, she's due to go in for her first ultrasound. She took the day off and the two of us are so excited to hear our baby's beating heart and get a good idea on when they'll arrive.

I'm slipping my shoes on by the front door, waiting for her as she takes her time upstairs. I check the clock, seeing that if we lag behind any further we're going to be late.

"Hurry it up, baby mama," I call up the stairs, and she quickly comes out of our bedroom with a hairbrush in hand.

"Sorry, sorry," she says. "I know I'm going slow. I'm still out of it."

She's been having a hard time sleeping at night; whether she just can't get to sleep or getting up to pee way more often than she used to. She's trying to get used to the way her body's changing, but it's been hard, and there's only so much I can do to help. It seems like even if she does get a good night's sleep, she's just as tired the next day. It's unlike her, but she tells me it'll pass.

In the car, she leans her head back and closes her eyes while I drive. Excitement rises in my gut as I watch her, eyes trailing down to her stomach at a stoplight even though she isn't showing quite yet. We're going in for an ultrasound. This baby is alive and inside her. We're going to hear its real, live heartbeat.

I hold April's hand after she gets settled in the reclining hospital chair, and she looks at me with lit-up eyes. "Are you excited?" she whispers, squeezing my fingers.

"I can't wait," I say, then the OB comes in, who happens to be April's close friend, Arizona.

"You guys are here to hear baby's heartbeat for the first time, aren't you?" she says, wheeling over in a short chair with a clipboard in her hands. April and I both nod. "That's so exciting," she says, flicking on the monitor by April's head. She checks her chart. "So, it says here you're about 8 weeks along… we'll check that for sure and then be able to give you a loose due date. Sound good?"

We nod, and she squirts some jelly onto April's bare stomach as she gets the sensor ready.

"So, I know we won't be able to tell for a while, but… what are you guys hoping for? Boy? Girl?" Arizona asks.

We look at each other. "Anything," April says.

"As long as it's healthy, that's what we care about," I say. We've been discussing the sex of the baby for the past couple weeks, trying to decide which we'd like to have first. We ended up not being able to decide, saying that we'll be fine with either. It doesn't matter, as long as he or she comes out with a beating heart.

"Great way to look at it," Arizona says, and the screen in front of her comes to life. "Alright, now. Let's see if we can get a good reading… if baby's in a good position…" She moves the sensor around, and I watch masses of black, gray and white move around on the screen. I wouldn't be able to read that picture if I tried, but luckily Arizona knows what she's doing.

"Interesting…" she says, moving the sensor more slowly. Her voice is quieter, and she sounds intrigued.

"What?" April says, and she sounds the opposite of intrigued. She's on edge, worried that something might be wrong. I have the same twist of nerves in my stomach that I know won't unravel until Arizona shows us that heartbeat.

Arizona doesn't answer, she's too busy trying to get a good reading.

"Arizona, what?" April says again, this time more demanding. "What do you see?"

"I see…" the doctor says, leaning forward to look closer at the machine. "Not one heartbeat, but two."

She looks over at us, her blue eyes twinkling in the low light of the small room.

April gasps, looking at me and back to the doctor. "Twins?" she breathes.

"Seriously?" I echo.

Arizona nods slowly and confidently, grinning softly at us before looking at the screen again. She points to an unidentifiable mass to the right, circling with her finger. "There's Baby A right there," she says. "There's its head, its arm… and do you see that little blinking dot? That's a heartbeat right there." She moves her finger a bit to the left. "And Baby B over here, she's all curled up. I don't know if you guys can see, it'd be better if she were a little more stretched out, but they're both there." She smiles at us again. "You're having twins. Let's hear their heartbeats."

The sound of whooshing fills the room; loud and steady. April gasps and grabs my hand tightly, pulling it to her chest. She bites her lower lip and looks at me, and I can't help the tears that come to my eyes.

"They're so strong," I say, voice wavering. I pull my hand from her chest and press my lips to her knuckles. "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

April wipes her tears with her free hand. "Thank you," she says to Arizona, then lets her head rest back as she closes her eyes. "They're perfect."

We walk through the front door of the house, still in awe of the news we received.

"We're gonna have to get double everything," I say, shaking my head with wide eyes. "Two cribs, two… two car seats, all those outfits, we're gonna have to go back and buy one more of each." I press my hands to either side of my head. "We're gonna need like, forty thousand diapers. Oh, my god. A double stroller. We need a double stroller."

April saunters up to me from where she's been digging in her purse. She has a calm, soft smile on her face that reaches her eyes. "Breathe, Daddy," she says, and pushes my shoulders so I'll sit down on the couch. She follows suit, planting herself on my lap with one arm around my shoulders. "We just gotta take it one step at a time." She touches the tip of her nose to mine and pulls out the ultrasound that clearly shows two twin masses. "We're having twins. Look at them, they're beautiful."

My chest loosens a bit as I hear her voice, telling me the only thing that matters. We're having two babies - not one, but two - and they're healthy. The sound of their heartbeats was gorgeous. Right now, April has three beating hearts inside of her body, and that's a miracle in itself.

"They are beautiful," I say, nuzzling her cheek.

She looks at me and frames my face with one hand, kissing the space between my eyebrows. "Names," she says. "We should think of names."

"What'll be best," I begin. "Two boys or two girls?"

"Or one of each," she says. "Fraternal."

I don't let the thought of a brother and sister trigger me. I have control over my brain, it doesn't have control over me. I can keep both feet planted in reality, what's happening right here and right now, without letting myself travel back to the Middle East. It doesn't serve me anymore. It's not mine anymore.

Until it's time to go to therapy, April and I sit on the couch with the name book open on our laps, the one we bought last weekend but haven't had a chance to look in yet. She's all about making a decision from her heart, telling me that if we're drawn to something, we should choose without overthinking.

We won't know the sexes of the twins for weeks still, but we'll be prepared when we do. If it's two boys, their names will be Hudson and Leo. A boy and a girl: Julian and Evangeline. Two girls: Grace and Isla.

April raises her eyebrows, happy with the pairs we've picked, and lifts up her shirt. I run my hand over her bare stomach and kiss her shoulder, amazed at the life growing inside her that's now more personified than ever.

"Hi, little babies," she whispers. "We're gonna go tell Daddy's friends about you. So be good, okay?"

She giggles and looks at me, and I kiss her on the lips softly. "We can't wait to meet you," I say, and I've never meant anything more.

I'm practically exploding with the news for the entirety of the group session; it's useless to try and stay concentrated today. April is the same way, jiggling her knee as her legs are crossed and keeping my hand on her lap. We steal glances at each other, waiting for the hour to be up, and when it finally is I can't contain myself anymore.

"I have some exciting news," I say, standing up and catching everyone's attention. "Great news, actually. I don't know how many of you know, but April is pregnant. And just today, we found out that we're having twins."

The room collectively gasps, then a bunch of smiles break out. "Congratulations!" Dr. Altman says, clapping. "That's amazing news."

There are similar reactions from everyone else, then Amelia and Owen come up to us personally. "You're having twins?!" Amelia says excitedly, holding April's shoulders in her hands. "That's insane! How did you react when you found out?"

April giggles. "We… we're just happy, I don't know." She laughs again. "We're really happy."

Owen gives April a big, gentle hug and shakes my hand. "You're very lucky," he says.

"Thank you," I say, and wrap my arm around April's shoulders. "Really, thank you."

"I call dibs on planning the baby shower," Amelia says, pointing one finger in the air. "That's definitely all me."

"Of course," April says. "No one else I'd rather have."

When we get home, I'm going through mail at the kitchen counter when I hear footsteps come up behind me. April wraps her arms around my waist, slipping her hands under my shirt, and I smile to myself. She's predictable; whenever she touches me like this, I know exactly what she wants. And along with being tired from the pregnancy, the hormones have made her extra horny.

Not that I'm complaining.

"I'm so happy," she says, hugging me tight.

"Mm-hmm…" I say, still flipping through envelopes. I pause, though, when one of her hands goes inside my jeans and her fingers spread out over my penis, which won't take long to get hard. She rubs her hand up and down, which makes me close my eyes and drop the mail.

"And you're happy," she continues, undoing my belt with swift movements of her free hand. When she gets past it, she unbuttons and unzips my jeans with ease, then pulls them down my hips. "So we should be happy together."

My pants are pooled around my ankles, and she wastes no time in getting that hand inside my boxers to touch me, skin on skin. "Mm, April," I say, tensing as she strokes me.

"What?" she breathes.

"You wanna slow down?" I ask, turning around.

She grins devilishly. "Not really," she says.

We switch places and I lift her up onto the counter so our faces are level with each other. She rests her arms on my shoulders and hugs my hips with her thighs, keeping me close as if I planned on going anywhere.

She holds my face in her hands when we kiss, and I close my eyes from how good it feels. I pull her body tighter against mine, loving the way her slopes and curves are subtly changing, then slip my hand between us to crawl up her thigh and under the skirt of her dress.

The sound she makes when I touch her arousal is incredible, a mixture of a sigh, a whimper and a moan all put together. She drops her lips to my neck and runs her tongue over my throat, sucking skin into her mouth as I play with the outline of her panties. As I run my thumb between her legs, I'm not surprised that she's soaked through them in the little amount of time we've been doing this. It doesn't take her long to get worked up anymore.

"Oh, please touch me," she breathes, pressing her chest against mine. "Oh, Jackson… please, god. Touch me."

When she purrs like that, she has me completely wrapped around her finger and she knows it. I move her underwear to the side and push two fingers inside her, and she jolts forward to rest her forehead on my shoulder as her hips jerk against my hand.

"Lay back," I say.

"Hmm?" she says, still limp against me.

"Back," I say, nodding her along. "And this needs to come off." I slip her long-sleeved, patterned dress over her head and fold it in half to rest on the counter beside us. When she's left in her bra and underwear, she's squirming with desire for me to get my hands on her again. But I need to do something else first.

Her breasts have been slowly but noticeably growing since she's been pregnant, and I love it. They've also gotten increasingly more sensitive, which I take advantage of every chance that I get. And right now is the perfect chance.

I pull her close by yanking on the small of her back, and she gasps softly when I bury my face between her breasts. Her skin is soft, smooth and sweet-smelling, and I could get lost in it without even trying. April in her entirety is hypnotic; her body does crazy things to me. For as long as I've let her, she's made me crazy and grounded me, somehow both at once.

She unsnaps her bra and flings it so it lands in the sink, and I cup her breasts in my hands and kiss my way to her nipple. She arches her back and pulls herself closer, whimpering when I graze my teeth across the hardening bud, falling forward when I suck on it.

"Oh, god," she moans, her inhale rattling her chest. I suck harder, making sounds against her skin, and dig my fingertips into her back. "Jackson, Jackson, Jackson," she says urgently. "You're gonna make me come, and I don't… I…" She pushes my head away, directing it lower towards the apex of her thighs as she shimmies out of her underewear.

I chuckle, studying her dilated pupils. She's turned on beyond belief; my mouth will barely touch her before she orgasms.

"You want it?" I breathe, leaning forward with my elbows on the counter.

She leans back, looking at me with her eyebrows knitted together. "Yes," she says, insistently. She widens her thighs and I watch her ribcage show through her skin with every strained exhale.

"How bad?" I say, running my hands up the length of her smooth legs.

She trembles, letting her head fall back on the countertop. "So bad," she moans, then reaches between her legs to try and do something about it herself.

"No, no," I say, moving it away by the wrist. "You leave that to me."

"You're going too slow," she says, bending her knees so her heels are on the edge of the counter, feet hanging off.

"And you're gonna wait," I say. Her eyes flash. "With your arms above your head, and you won't move."

For a split second, she decides whether or not to obey me, and I wonder if she will. But then, she moves her arms slowly until they're hanging over the other edge, and she's bared complete vulnerable before me.

I edge even closer so my breath hits her, and I watch the muscles in her abdomen tense up. She hasn't taken her eyes off me, and she won't.

I run one finger down her outer lips and she gasps softly, neck craning. I kiss the inside of her thigh, inching closer to her core until I can feel the heat radiating from it, then pull back. She situates her hips on the hard surface she's resting on, making a small noise of discomfort as impatience sets in.

I hold heavy eye contact as I reach up and slide two of my fingers into her mouth, and she wraps her tongue around them slowly. That action alone makes my erection stiffen even further, and I don't take them out until she's lubricated them fully with her saliva.

"Thank you," I murmur, lips moving against the crease of her knee.

I take my hand back and blow a stream of cool air between her legs, which makes her whimper. She pinches her eyes closed and widens her legs, and when I push the two slick fingers inside of her, it's worth all the waiting.

She moans with her mouth open, eyelashes fluttering. Her arms still don't move, they stay anchored above her head though I know she wants to touch me. Move my ministrations along, quicken me up. But she obeys, and keeps them where I told her to.

I pump my fingers slowly and deliberately, watching her every move as I do. She's wet and tight around them, and I love the way she feels so much that I can't resist any longer. With her eyes open and concentrated on me, I pull my fingers out and stick them in my mouth, then cover her with my tongue.

She makes desperate sounds that are alike to sobs, but not the same. She takes deep, full breaths as I move my tongue inside her, nonsense words tumbling out of her that I can't begin to understand. I close my mouth, delving my tongue deeper as I suck on her, and she lets out a high-pitched whimper, more desperate-sounding than I've ever heard.

"Please," she breathes. "Please, please, please, please…"

I smile against her, pushing my fingers in again. Her eyes fly open and she gasps, so I start doing both at the same time. Her mouth falls open in a silent scream as I find her nerves, and her whole body writhes and keens when I pull them between my teeth. "Jackson!" she all but shouts.

"Mmm…" I moan, voice vibrating against her center.

"Don't stop," she begs. "Don't stop, don't…"

When I make her come, her whole body shakes and she takes a long time to catch her breath. I never part from her; I keep my mouth between her legs until she's spent and empty, struggling to come down while sweating so hard that she's slipping on the counter.

"Fuck," I say, standing up straight to look at her. She's a goddess; her hair in loose waves around her head, her chest shiny with sweat as her flushed nipples stand on end. I've never seen such a masterpiece.

In one fell swoop, I lift her off of the counter and position her in front of it, bent over with her forehead against the cool granite. It probably feels good after the heat I just worked her up to.

"You ready?" I ask, and see her nod shakily with her back arched, hips open for me.

I quickly enter her, and she makes a pleased, surprised sound. As I thrust forward, I take a handful of her ass and squeeze roughly, which makes her push her hips harder back against me. I rub the spot I dug my nails into in slow circles, then with the next pump of my hips, bring my palm down on it to spank her.

Her inner walls flutter around me and she moans, coming up for a deep breath as she lifts her head. "Again," she says.

"I know," I say, and she lets her weight fall forward to her hands instead of her elbows, standing up a bit straighter so I can bury my face in her neck after moving her hair to one side. She's sweaty and I can taste it on her skin, but I love it. I close my teeth on the slope between her neck and shoulder, and she leans her head away to give me more leeway.

I reach my free hand around to grab her breast, rubbing my thumb deftly over the nipple until she's whimpering with frustration. She reaches behind and ghosts her fingers over my other wrist, and I know what that means.

I spank her again, which forces a gust of air from her. She murmurs my name, rocking her hips back, and I rub the spot I made sore. The skin is turning an angry red, so I switch sides. I make her come the next time my hand meets her ass, and her body jerks and twitches uncontrollably as she calls my name and comes unwound while I'm still pumping my hips.

It doesn't take me long after for my own orgasm. I spill inside of her then pull her close, the back of her body pressed to the front of mine, and kiss her. It's sloppy and rough, but it's what we need. That connection.

"I love you," she breathes, words falling into my mouth.

With one arm wrapped around her torso and the other with a hand on her breast, I say it back. But we're not finished; I can tell from the energy in the room that she isn't done.

We somehow get upstairs, both of us naked and kissing, and stumble to the bed. I fall back onto it, looking up at her hungrily, as she crawls over me with slow purpose.

April runs her hands up my arms, beginning at my biceps and going all the way to my fingertips, where she pins my hands down above my head. She smiles down at me, eyes glinting, and with her breasts in my face I can't resist. I close my mouth around one of her nipples and suck hard, releasing it with a popping sound before moving to the other one and treating it the same.

"Oh…" she moans, breath hitching. "You…"

"Feel good?" I ask, knowing that it does.

"Now you…" she says, still keeping my arms pinned. "Can't move your arms." She giggles a little. "But I don't think you're gonna obey me, so I'm gonna make you."

She reaches behind and pulls the tie from her robe that's hanging on the bedpost, then knots it around my wrists. My eyes widen and all the blood rushes between my legs, even more so than what was already there.

"You're tying me up?" I ask.

She runs her hands down my chest after she's finished, slinking lower on my body. "Yes, I am," she purrs.

God, she's sexy. She arches her back so her ass is in the air, and presses wet kisses down the middle of my chest leading lower. I close my eyes and toss my head to one side as she ghosts her hand over the smattering of hair below my bellybutton, and my hips buck involuntarily.

She sits up on her knees and takes my erection in one hand, never breaking her eyes from mine as she runs it along her slick folds. I want to be inside her again so badly, but she's giving me a dose of my own medicine. She's going to torture me and make me wait.

"April…" I say, shifting as she moves lower to kiss the tops of my thighs. She bends my knees upwards and situates herself, reaching between my legs to run her fingertips over my balls, which she knows are sensitive. "Jesus," I hiss.

She giggles, eyes hooded as she plants her hands on either side of my waist. My hard-on is standing straight up a few inches under her chin, unbearably close to where I want it - in her mouth.

I could break out of this rope if I wanted to. It's just a flimsy piece of cloth. But I won't, and she knows it.

Slowly, she winds her fingers around my shaft and pumps up, collecting the pre-come that's leaking from the head to use it as lube. My hips jerk and I bite my lower lip, going crazy over how slow she's moving. My eyes shoot open when I feel her press a soft, sweet kiss to the head, and I want nothing more than to feel her warm, wet mouth wrapped around me. But she won't do it.

When she removes her hand, I let out a long groan.

"Flip over," she says, and I look at her confusedly. Since I don't move fast enough, she takes matters into her own hands and pulls at my side so she can roll me over to lie on my stomach. It takes a significant amount of force; I'm a lot heavier than she is, but she gets it done. Now, I'm lying with my arms tied above my head and my face turned to the side, wondering what the hell is going on.

"What are you doing?" I ask, feeling her crawl over me and position her knees on either sides of my thighs.

She pushes herself up with her mouth by my ear, and I can feel the pricks of her nipples on my shoulder blades. "You've been bad…" she says, and my erection that's pressed between the mattress and my stomach hardens more, if that's even possible at this point. "You've been really bad."

Before I can register what she's doing, her palm meets my ass and a sharp pain follows. "Shit," I breathe, pressing my forehead into the soft comforter.

"That's okay, right?" she asks, pressing her palms into the small of my back. "Also, I just want you to know. I don't believe in spanking kids. At all. Just because I said you were bad and then-"

"April," I murmur, voice getting lost. "You're ruining it."

"Oh," she says, straightening up. "Right." She clears her throat. "Like I said, you've been bad. You've been so naughty, you…" She seems to lose her train of thought.

"What did I do?" I ask, prompting her.

She gets back into it, leaning her weight forward with her hands braced on my ass. "You got caught… having sex with… the…"

"Principal," I finish, a grin starting on my lips. "Which is you."

"Yes," she says. "And so now you need to be punished."

She spanks me again, harder than I thought she was capable of. I had no idea it would turn me on so much; I knew I liked doing it to her and seeing her reaction, but I never pictured our roles reversed. I like it. A lot.

"It was either this or suspend you from school," she says, squeezing the muscle tight and digging her fingernails in. "And you're top of the class, so we couldn't do that."

I can't help but picture her in a tight pencil skirt, wearing nylons and a suit jacket, punishing me for having gotten caught having sex with her. Maybe it was to keep up the image that she did the punishing herself. I know I can't think too hard, obviously this isn't real, but it's turning me on beyond all belief. I can't help but wonder about details.

"Are you sorry for what you did?" she asks, resting her weight down onto me. I can feel the heat from between her legs, and I need to get her under me.

"No," I say.

"No?" she repeats.

"I'd do it again," I say, and she smacks my ass again, hard.

"Wrong answer," she says, then I feel her hands on the robe tie. "I'm gonna untie you and flip you over, then ask you again."

When my hands are free and I'm on my back, I see that her skin is flushed with arousal. I don't know if she's ever been this turned on, because I know I haven't.

"Now, let me-"

Before she can finish, I switch our positions so she's lying flat on her back and I'm straddling her hips, erection now impossible to ignore. She giggles and squeals, holding onto my biceps, and leans into me when I kiss her.

"You didn't let me finish," she mumbles, lips moving against mine.

"My dick's about to explode," I say. "We can finish your roleplay another time."

She smiles again, the tone totally changed from mere seconds ago, as she widens her legs to welcome me. I hold her close as I push inside, and she tightens her legs around me once I'm fully buried within her.

"Oh, I love you," she moans, and I dip my head to kiss her neck and chest. Her skin is hot and sweaty, but I love it this way. There's no filter, no barriers, just the two of us. Together. Stripped down and bare in every sense.

"I love you more," I say, pumping my hips. I love the way she feels - so tight wrapped around me - I know I'll never get sick of this. "God, I love you more. I love you so much, April."

When she comes, she scratches her nails down my back and leaves ragged cuts in their wake. She throws her head back and moans my name, drawing out every syllable like it's the last time she'll ever say it.

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you," she says, and the words run together until I can barely understand what she's saying at all.

But I do. I hold onto the sentiment and keep her close, and without words tell her that I love everything about her; everything she was and everything she'll ever be.

We find out we're having girls when April is 17 weeks along. Two identical twin girls, who will be named Grace and Isla. The day we get the news, excitement floods our lives all over again. We start buying pink things in droves. We announce it to April's family and my therapy group, the latter who is a lot more genuinely excited.

I love when people come up to me and ask how April and the girls are doing. My family becomes more and more real with every passing day. As April's belly grows, so does my love for those babies.

I'm painting the nursery a color called 'Rose Melody' when April passes by the door, one hand on her protruding stomach. "Open a window, Daddy," she says, leaning on the wall. "All these fumes will knock you out."

I smile over at her and shake my head. "It's freezing outside," I say.

"Well, I'm a human oven," she says. "In more ways than one. So I wouldn't know." She giggles. "Come and say hi to the babies before I take a nap."

She lifts up her shirt and I see movement beneath her skin, something that I will never not be amazed at. "Hi, girls," I say, and kiss right above her bellybutton. Sometimes when we're sitting on the couch at night and I press a palm to her belly, they'll press right back. It's the strangest and coolest thing I've ever known.

I try it now, but neither responds. "They're sleepy, too," April says, yawning for emphasis. "I'm gonna go lay down. Wake me up for dinner, okay?"

I tell her that I will, then give her a chaste kiss on the mouth before getting back to my paint job. By the end of the day, the nursery will be finished with everything the twins need. It hasn't been easy, but I've welcomed the work. It keeps my mind busy and it's been great for my recovery, knowing that I'm putting together something that we need so badly.

Group therapy is going well, too. I've found myself actually looking forward to it. I go to one group session and one single session with Dr. Altman per week. Right now, everything in life is going my way. I never knew things could flow this easily, be this good.

When I crawl into bed with April later that night after we've gone out to dinner with Owen and Amelia, her body is soft and tired beside me. She smells sweet, like the lotion I love, and I pat her hip a few times before settling down to spoon her from behind.

"Ultrasound tomorrow," she murmurs, taking one of my hands and kissing the knuckles. "Maybe we'll get a clear view of Grace this time."

Grace is our smaller twin, Baby B, the one we've had to monitor. In the first ultrasound, there were no discrepancies. But the two to follow showed that her growth was significantly slower and lesser than her sister's - nothing to cause alarm, but something to keep an eye on. April wasn't worried about it, so I chose not to be, either.

I'm excited to see them tomorrow. I love any chance we get to see our girls.

I kiss the back of April's head. "Hopefully," I say.

She sighs and relaxes further, hugging my arms close as she falls asleep. Touch is important to her - she doesn't sleep soundly until my arms are wrapped around her. Not loosely, either. She likes a secure hold, all night. And of course, I don't mind either. I love being close to her.

"Night," she whispers, squeezing my wrists.

"Goodnight," I whisper back, curling my leg over both of hers.

Snow is coming down in light flurries when we step out of the car the next day. April beams up at me, her hair fiery against the snowglobe parking lot, and shivers dramatically once we get inside the hospital.

"It's freezing out there!" she says, smiling brightly at the receptionist. "I'm not here to work. I'm here for my 22-week ultrasound." She says it loudly because she's proud of it, and I can't help but feel the same. I want people to know.

As if her pregnant belly wasn't enough.

"Hey, mama!" we hear, and Arizona comes walking down a long hallway towards us. "And Jackson! Hey, you two. I was just finishing up some charts, but I'm ready for you now. Wanna follow me?"

April snorts. "I love it when you treat me like this place isn't my second home," she says.

Arizona looks back at her over her shoulder. "Well, it won't be in a couple months. I don't want you back here 'til those babies are fine without you. You're a workaholic, and you need to take some time for yourself. Maternity leave is very important."

April rolls her eyes and follows her colleague into a small room with a sonogram machine. "I know, I know," she says. "Anyway, it's a long ways away. You don't have to worry yet."

"There's always time for worrying," Arizona says, sliding up in the rolling chair. "Let me get caught up here. We've got Baby A-"

"Isla," I cut in, and smile at April when we lock eyes. Though we've had the names chosen for a while, it's the first time we've said it out loud to anyone else. "That's gonna be our Isla."

Arizona grins. "That's adorable. And Baby B?"

"Grace," April says, warmly. "Little Gracie."

"Little indeed," Arizona says. "But during your 16-week, it looked like she was improving. Hopefully we've still got her on that steady growth track. Shall we find out?"

April nods and pulls up her shirt, exposing that round stomach I love. I don't take my eyes off of it while Arizona squirts the gel on her skin, I only look away to study the screen.

Of course, I'm no good at reading it even after seeing the pictures plenty of times. I couldn't tell a baby from the dark inside of April's body if I tried, so I always wait for Arizona to start talking. But this time, she's silent.

April looks at me, then over at her friend as she roves the sensor around. "Arizona?" she asks, voice small. "Is everything alright?"

"I…" Arizona says, still scanning. "Hold on. Give… just give me a second here."

April's face drops. "You're scaring me," she says. "Arizona, you're-"

"Please," Arizona says, looking at April with wide, serious eyes. "Just give me a minute."

She takes a lot longer than a minute, but April doesn't speak up again. She looks up at me with watery, worried eyes, and takes my hand after no one has spoken for a while.

"I-I'm just not sure what I'm looking at here," Arizona finally says.

"What do you mean?" April cuts in, right away.

The doctor looks between us, and the expression in her eyes tells me she knows exactly what she's looking at, she just doesn't want to tell us.

"Say it," I mutter, eyebrows furrowing.

"I need a second pair of eyes," she says. "I'll be right back. Sit tight, okay? Just…" She extends a palm in our direction. "Just sit tight."

Moments later, a russet-haired doctor walks into the room, stride confident and meaning business. She introduces herself as Addison Montgomery, but doesn't say anything more than that. April knows her, I can tell, but they don't exchange pleasantries. April just stares at her intensely, her grip tight on mine, as Addison looks at the same things Arizona did on the sonogram screen.

"Dr. Robbins, if I could speak with you privately for a moment," Dr. Montgomery says, standing up from the rolling chair. The two of them walk just outside the door, where we can still clearly see them through the window.

When I look at April, she has a tear stain on either cheek. She won't meet my eyes; she's staring at the both of them, watching them glance inside at us.

"Tell me," she finally says, loud enough so they can hear as she sits up and yanks her shirt down over her belly. "I'm a doctor, for Christ's sake. Tell me what the hell is going on with my babies."

The two women doctors stop talking and look inside, then exchange one more thing before coming back in to join us. Their expressions are solemn and unreadable, but I know whatever they're about to say isn't good news.

"Doctor Kepner…" Dr. Montgomery begins, but April cuts her off.

"April," she says harshly, but her voice cracks. "I'm April. April, your patient. I'm your patient. I'm not Dr. Kepner, I'm a pregnant mother. I'm a patient." More tears stream down her face, and she does nothing to stop them.

"April," Dr. Montgomery begins again, nodding slowly. "According to the ultrasound, Baby A is perfectly fine. She's got a strong heartbeat and she's a decent size. But in regards to Baby B…" She pauses, and I notice April's hand crawl to her abdomen. "She didn't make it. There's no heartbeat, and no fetal movement. No fetal growth. Baby B passed away, due to something called Twin-To-Twin Transfusion syndrome."

My heart stops. April's mouth drops open as her eyes flit between the women in front of her.

"Grace," she chokes out, fists clenched. "Her name is Grace."

 _When April's family got home from the hospital, I expected her to be over at my house right away. Her mom was pregnant and April couldn't wait to have another little sibling, a baby brother this time. I figured I'd lose a lot of her attention since there would be an infant around, but I was trying to get used to it. We were almost 14, I could handle it._

 _But after their van pulled up in the driveway, I didn't see her for days. It was the middle of summer, the one before our sophomore year of high school. She'd already gone away to camp and been back, and we were supposed to be living out the last days as best we could._

 _I didn't feel comfortable going over and knocking on her door, though. I wasn't sure why. I didn't want to bother them, especially if there was a baby to worry about. I was probably the last thing on her mind._

 _So I tried to busy myself doing other things. For a week, at least, I rode my bike around town alone, went fishing alone, even went to the mall alone._

 _I was coming to grips with the fact that I might never see her again on the day I climbed up into my treehouse for old time's sake and found her there, knees pulled up to her chest as she sat in the corner._

 _I almost fell down the ladder, she scared me so bad._

 _"Dude!" I exclaimed, climbing all the way in. "You gave me like, three heart attacks. What are you doing?"_

 _As I got closer, I saw that she was crying. She wiped her face with the backs of her hands, but she wasn't trying to hide it. She shrugged, and didn't answer my question._

 _"We haven't been up here in a long time," I said, and sat down across from her. "I was about to die of boredom. That's why I came. Brought a book and everything." I tossed my paperback on the dilapidated couch. "Last thing I expected was to see you." I tipped my head to one side. "What're you doing?"_

 _She shrugged again, sniffling. Her voice was quiet when she said, "Getting away from my house, I guess."_

 _"What for?" I asked, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. "You're crying."_

 _"I know," she snapped, flashing me an offended look._

 _"Sorry," I said, backing off._

 _"Nothing is right at home anymore," she said. "Everything's messed up."_

 _"What happened?" I asked. It was unusual for her to say something like this. Usually her family was the picture of the Christian American household. Nothing ever went wrong._

 _She looked out the handmade window of the treehouse and more tears rolled down her cheeks. I wanted to know what was wrong so I could fix it. I was sure there was something I could do. I wanted to reach across and wipe her tears, but that would be weird. I didn't touch her._

 _"I don't know if I can say it," she whispered, her voice hoarse. Her grip on her knees was so hard that her knuckles were white, harsh against the flush of her face._

 _"Try," I said, and she looked away from me and towards the wooden floor._

 _She was quiet for a long time before she spoke again. So long, that I thought she wasn't going to answer at all. But eventually, she did._

 _"There's no baby," she said._

 _I was confused. I didn't understand. No baby?_

 _"What?" I said. "What do you mean?"_

 _Her chin trembled and she took in a shaky breath. "Well, there was," she said. "But he was stillborn."_

 _Stillborn. I'd never heard that word before, so I tried to wrap my head around what it meant._

 _"Stillborn?" I repeated. "Wait. Born dead?"_

 _Her eyes flashed angrily. "Yes," she hissed. "My baby brother never cried. He never breathed. I held him and he was stiff, like a doll." She wiped her nose and spit came flying from between her lips when she talked. "He never got to live."_

 _I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I looked at her, but she wasn't looking at me. Instead, she was staring out the window again, eyes glassed over with tears._

 _"I want to be alone," she said finally, still refusing to look at me._

 _I nodded to myself, backing up and out of the treehouse to descend the ladder. She asked to be alone, so I did what I could and left. I let her be alone._


	13. Chapter 13

APRIL

Tears blur my vision as I storm through the hospital, out into the parking lot, and into the car. My belly impedes me from being comfortable behind the steering wheel anymore, so Jackson drives when he can. Right now, I have my elbow on the passenger's side armrest as I stare at the snow falling outside.

"She's wrong," I say, fist clenched under my chin. "I would know. I would know if my baby was dead." I spit out the last word like poison.

Jackson is quiet, staring ahead, so I keep talking.

"I'm her mother," I say. "Both of their mother. I would know if one of them… I would know. I would have a feeling. And I don't feel anything. Our babies are fine."

A prickly silence follows. My face heats up with rage.

"Our babies are fucking fine!"

He flinches, eyes roving down to the middle of the steering wheel. I look at him, hands trembling, and wait for him to respond. To offer support, be on my side.

"Say something," I urge, gripping my knees tight. I knit my eyebrows together, perturbed by his silence, and try to soften my gaze in his direction. This isn't his fault; he did nothing wrong, I shouldn't be lashing out at him. "Sorry for swearing," I say. "Please, say something."

He lifts his hands from his lap and turns the key in the ignition, glancing at the clock radio. "We need to get to group," he says.

He puts the car in reverse and I make a surprised sound. "What?" I say, under my breath. "You're just… you're not going to say anything?"

The muscles in his jaw are tight, set straight as he pulls out of the hospital parking lot. "I don't have anything to say right now," he replies, quietly.

I face forward again, blinking disjointedly as my hands try to find a comfortable position. Nothing to say. I can't wrap my head around it, but I can't force him to speak.

I wanted something to hold onto; I wanted him to agree with me that our baby is fine, both of them are fine. We're going to have two beautiful, healthy baby girls in a few months. And everything will be okay.

But he can't give me that. Why?

I swallow hard as we pull up to the community center, and Jackson takes my arm so I won't slip on the ice as we walk inside.

"I'm fine," I snap, once we're past the entryway. I take my arm back and pull it close to my chest, looking around at the people who are just coming in, too. Everyone is stomping their boots and shaking the snow off of their coats, hanging them up on the rack in the hall.

I feel warm eyes on me from all around. It's usually a nice feeling, but today it makes my skin crawl. I don't want anyone looking at me or even thinking about me.

Jackson doesn't talk at all during the session, which doesn't surprise me. By the look on his face, I can tell that his feet aren't planted in the circle we're sitting in. He's far away, lost in a different world. I haven't seen him this absent in a long time and it's unsettling, but there's nothing I can do. My foundation is equally as rickety.

I don't hear a single word of what anyone says for the entire hour. I have my hands on my stomach, begging for any sort of movement. But they're not active, even as I will them to be. I take in a deep breath and let it out with a puff of air, running my thumb over the soft material of my shirt.

Everything is going to be okay. In a few months, I'm going to deliver our twins and they're both going to come out screaming and full of life. Jackson and I will get married and our family will be complete without any semblance of death or mourning. We've dealt with enough of that; what kind of cruelty would be to put more of it on us? Especially him.

I let my eyes wander over to Jackson, who's sitting next to me with his eyes on the ground. I reach across and take his hand, silently assuring him that everything will work out. He blinks, returning to earth, but doesn't look at me.

Dr. Altman, Amelia and Owen come up to the both of us when the session is over and we're collecting our coats. My shoulders tense as I hear their amiable voices grow closer, and I know there's no skirting them.

"Hey, you two!" Dr. Altman says. "Almost didn't think you were gonna show. You're usually here in time to get first dibs at the snack table."

I force a chuckle; I've never heard anything more fake come out of me. "The roads," I say. "Traffic."

She squints to look out the glass doors; it's dark outside now, but the snow has stopped. "Oh, yeah," she says. "Be careful out there. Gotta keep those babies safe."

My hand flies to my abdomen, fingers spread out. I pinch my lips slightly and find it hard to meet anyone's eyes.

"Yeah," I say, quietly.

Dr. Altman's attention is caught by someone else, and she leaves the four of us alone. "How're they doing, by the way?" Amelia asks, stepping closer. "You had an appointment today, right?"

My heartbeat speeds up and my mouth goes dry. "Yeah," I repeat.

"Anything new?" Owen prompts, smiling.

There's a strange moment of pause that passes over us where no one speaks. Time freezes and then moves slow as I glance at Jackson, whose face is nearly unrecognizable. I move so both hands are resting on my belly, and lighten my expression with a wide smile.

He walks away. Jackson grabs his coat from the rack and turns around, walking outside and disappearing into the darkness as he heads towards the car. I stay facing Owen and Amelia, that shaky smile still on my face, eyes strained with forced emotion.

"Great," I say, not realizing that my response doesn't match the question posed. My eyes burn with the onset of tears, and without my permission one slips down my cheek to disappear beneath my chin. I nod, hearing my breath come in short gusts. "They're great."

Amelia's eyebrows knit together and she blinks hard at me. "April…" she says, extending an arm to hold my elbow. "Are you okay?"

I take in a deep breath and shake my head slightly. "Of course," I say, taking my coat from the rack. "Of course I'm fine. I just have to go. I'm sure Jackson's hungry. I know I am. I have to get home, I just… I have to get home."

"April," Amelia says, more sternly.

"It's getting late," I say. Without my permission, more tears come sliding down my cheeks.

"Why are you crying?" Amelia says, taking my elbow again. "There's something you're not telling me."

"I'm fine," I say, slipping my arms into my coat. "Pregnancy hormones. Double trouble, with these two." I laugh nervously, clearing my throat after. "I have to get going. I'll see you tomorrow at work."

But her voice follows me, even after I turn my back. "Why don't I take you home?" she suggests.

"What?" I say, squinting. "We have the car. We can't just leave it here. And anyway, we're fine. I don't know what's got you all worked up."

I realize my fists are clenched at my sides.

"Let me drive you home, April," Amelia says. Now it's more of a demand than a request.

I scoff. "I…" I sigh. "I mean, sure. If it'll make you feel better. But still, the car."

"Owen will ride with Jackson," Amelia says, then touches my upper arm. "And I'll take you." She turns and makes eye contact with her husband. "I'll meet you at their house."

I wrap my arms around myself as the cold wind blows outside, and stop at the driver's side of my car to talk to Jackson before going with Amelia. "Owen's gonna ride with you, and Amelia's gonna take me," I say.

His hands settle on the wheel. "Why?" he asks.

I shake my head and shrug. "I don't know," I say. "She's worried, or something. She doesn't need to be, I have no idea what in the world's going on, but…"

The look he gives burns right through me.

"I'll see you at home," I mutter, and head off to get in Amelia's warm car.

We don't exchange much conversation, but I can tell she wants to. She can ask all she wants, but I'm not going to break. There's nothing to tell. No news is good news. She doesn't need to worry about it, so I won't burden her with the false information that we were given a few hours ago. It might be on Jackson's mind, but it's not on mine. I'm the one carrying these babies, and I know that everything is fine. Grace is smaller than Isla, but that doesn't mean anything is wrong with her.

"Have you started thinking about stuff for the baby shower yet?" I ask, looking at the window at the snow flurries whipping by.

"I have been, yeah," Amelia says, glancing at me. "Is that still… is that still on?"

I screw my face up. "Of course it is," I say. "Don't be silly."

When we get to the house, Amelia gets out of the car without an invitation to come inside. Owen and Jackson are already here; the lights are on inside and the car is parked in its usual spot. I can see the silhouettes of them sitting at the dining room table as we walk towards the door, and when we get inside the house is warm and inviting.

"I guess we're having guests for dinner," I say, forcing pep into my voice. I hadn't expected this - it isn't like Amelia to just invite herself over - but I won't be rude and ask them to leave. They're our friends.

Jackson and Owen aren't speaking, and Jackson is staring down at the table like something might be hidden in there. I sidle up behind him and slide an arm around his shoulders, asking, "What're you hungry for, babe?"

He doesn't respond. He just shakes his head and keeps his eyes where they are.

I clench my jaw and rub his upper arm, trying to gloss over his behavior. "Okay, how about you guys?" I ask. "Anything in particular sound good?"

I get stares in return for my question, and no one offers any suggestions. Amelia looks concerned as she tracks me with her eyes, and I wish I could shake that expression off.

"Okay, hopefully I'll be inspired by something in the pantry," I say, and head off towards the kitchen.

Amelia follows; I can feel her presence behind me as I squat down and get a couple pans out of a low cupboard. "April," she begins, voice cautious. "You know, you can tell me anything."

"Of course," I say nonchalantly.

"What's going on?" she pushes.

I don't even turn around to look at her when I respond. "I told you already," I say. "Nothing."

Making me jump, Jackson's voice booms from behind me, meaning that he's found his way into the kitchen and heard what Amelia just said. "Would you stop?" he says loudly. "Just stop."

I glower at him from over my shoulder, pan in hand. I grit my teeth and say, "Don't."

Amelia looks between the two of us as I struggle to stand with help from the counter. She opens her mouth to say something and closes it, eyes still darting back and forth. "What is he talking about?" she asks.

"Nothing," I say, turning around to preheat the oven. "Everything is fine."

"Everything is not fine!" he bellows.

"Stop raising your voice," I say, eerily quiet in comparison.

"I'll stop raising my voice when you stop denying what you know is true," he says. "You're only making it worse."

"Stop talking," I say.

"You can't admit it to yourself. You don't think it hurts me, too? But you can't pretend like it didn't happen. You can't pretend like it's not real."

"Please stop talking," I say again.

He takes a step closer, but I won't look at him. Amelia disappears, only background noise to me at this point. "Grace is dead," he says. "Things are not fine. Our child is dead, and you have to accept it."

My face burns and I feel like I might be sick. I won't stand here and listen to this.

"Excuse me," I say, and push my way out of the kitchen to storm upstairs, away from it all.

I close myself in the first room I come across, which happens to be the bathroom, and slam the door. I can hear muddled, confused voices coming from downstairs, but I have no desire to hear what they're saying. I lock the door, press my back against it, and slide down to rest with my knees bent upwards. My belly is too big to pull them into my chest, but I go as far as I can.

I let my head fall back to hit the wood with a light, hollow sound. I want Owen and Amelia to leave, and I want Jackson to see my side. I'm not crazy, I'm a mother. I'm a mother with two children inside me; I would know if one was dead. I would know. I would just know.

I lift my hands to my hair and run my fingernails over my scalp, shutting my eyes and gritting my teeth together. This can't be happening, not to us. We've had an overdose of tragedy; it's impossible for anything more to pile on.

"You're okay in there, right?" I whisper, dropping one hand to my belly. I let out a defeated-sounding breath and run my palm lower to lift my shirt, exposing bare skin. I press on it to communicate with them, and get a tiny press back. I smile weakly, saying, "Was that you, Gracie?"

The silence sits like a weight on my shoulders, though I can't expect much more.

I sit in the bathroom for a long time, long enough where I hope Owen and Amelia have left. But I'm wrong, because when I hear a knock on the door and wait to hear Jackson's voice, I hear Amy's instead.

"April," she says. "Can I come in?"

I furrow my eyebrows and reach up to make sure the door is still locked. I'm comforted when I discover that it is.

"No," I say, and my voice sounds waterlogged though I've barely been crying. "I want to be alone."

I feel her weight lean against the door. "I get that," she says.

I sigh and wait for her to leave. But she doesn't. She's persistent to the point of being annoying, and I can't handle her presence without talking anymore.

"So, did Jackson tell you everything about our appointment?" I ask, staring down at the white tiled floor.

She's quiet. I listen for her response, eyes roving without landing on much of anything.

"Yeah," she finally admits. "He did."

"I knew it," I say, and my gut twists with an emotion I can't name.

"He didn't do it out of anger," she says. "He loves you so much, April. He just wants you to be okay."

"I am okay," I say, snapping. "I'm okay, and our babies are okay. He didn't have the right to tell you that, though. That was wrong. That should've been a decision that we both made. Together."

"It wasn't malicious," she says. "He was on the brink of tears the whole time. He's upset. He wants to talk to you about it."

"Well, why isn't he the one on the other side of the door then?" I ask.

"He's talking to Owen," she says. "And I don't think you're too keen on talking to him right now, anyway. He said you wouldn't be."

"Because he doesn't trust me," I say.

"Of course he trusts you," she says. "You know that's not true."

"Well, he doesn't believe me," I retort.

I hear the doorknob click as she tries it again, but it's still locked and it'll stay that way.

"Arizona is good at what she does," Amelia says tentatively. "And you know that."

My face heats up with anger. "You weren't there," I say. "Don't talk like you were."

"No, you're right," she says. "I wasn't. But she's our friend, and you know she'd never tell you something if she wasn're 100% sure. And honey, Addison saw it, too."

The term of endearment sits stagnant in the air and festers like a sore. It doesn't sound sweet, it sounds condescending. I resent her for using it.

"I don't care what anyone saw," I say. "Addison and Arizona don't have these babies inside them. I do."

"I know," Amelia says, tone gentle. "I know you do."

I take in a deep breath. "I want Jackson to support me," I say. "I want him on my side. And he won't give me that."

"He wants to," she says. "He can't. And you know why he can't."

My mouth tastes sour. I can barely swallow.

"You and Jackson…" Amelia begins. "You're both so lucky to have each other. After all these years, he found his way back to you. You're each other's big love in life, that's obvious. It's so obvious. And you both need to stay strong and be there for one another. He'll break without you, April," she says. "You know that. And I think you know that without him, you'll break now, too." She pauses for a moment, and I'm so still I can feel my heart beating. "But as lucky as the two of you are, that little girl is even luckier to have you as her parents." I hear the sound of her laying a flat palm against the surface of the door. "Don't let her down."

She leaves, and the space grows silent again. Through the floor, I can feel the rumblings of chairs being pushed out downstairs and the faint murmur of goodbyes being exchanged before the front door opens and closes.

After a few minutes pass, I move my back from the door, unlock it, and swing it open. I lean against the sink instead, with a perfect view of the stairs. It takes Jackson longer than I anticipated to appear at the bottom of them, making tentative eye contact with me as he ascends.

I follow him with my eyes as he joins me in the bathroom, settling down on the floor next to me with our knees steepled parallel to each other. His head stays bowed and mine is leaned back, staring up at the dome light on the ceiling.

At one point, there were three heartbeats inside me. Now, I have to accept the fact that there are two. I don't have two healthy twins, I have one. Grace is dead, but not gone. I'm still carrying the lifeless body of my littlest girl.

I wrap my arms around my belly and pinch my eyes shut tight, so tight that tears leak out of the corners. I feel Jackson's hand cap over my knee, and I take in a loud, shaky breath.

"I know," he murmurs.

And we stay like that for a long time. His hand on me, cementing me to the earth, as I come to grips with the fact that one of my twins died. The fact that I had no idea it was happening while it did.

I open my eyes after a decent amount of time has passed and look at him; his face is open and solemn. Concerned, too.

"Was she scared?" I whisper, voice hoarse. I'm not crying; I actually feel more stable than I have all day.

Jackson's eyebrows tilt as his face transforms into a heartbroken expression. He holds my cheek with one hand and I lean against him, letting my eyes roam his features as my lips turn down in a frown.

"No," he says, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb. "You know why?"

His voice is so soft and soothing. I feel like, as I'm sitting next to him on the cold, hard floor, I'm wrapped in a blanket.

I shake my head no.

"Because through everything, she had you. And she knew that. For her whole life, you were all she knew. And that was the best thing she could imagine, the best thing she knew. She had her mother. You kept her safe. You did what you could."

"But she died," I say, heart plummeting as I say it out loud for the first time.

"Cradled in your body," he says, leaning forward to rest his forehead against mine. "You did everything for her. And she knew that."

Tears slide down my cheeks. My heart is breaking, but his words are so beautiful. The guilt that had dug its claws into my shoulders lessens slightly, even more so when I hold Jackson's neck and kiss him.

"I can't give you the life you want," I say, saying aloud what terrifies me. One of his triggers is a dead child, and now I've presented him with his worst fear.

"No, no," he says, curling a bit of hair behind my ear and holding my face gently. "The life that I want is any life with you."

I let my head fall forward as a relieved-sounding sob escapes. Amelia was right. We need each other so badly. I open my mouth against his and he wraps his arms around the small of my back, pulling me closer on the floor that's grown to be significantly uncomfortable.

I pull away from him, lick my lips and say, "I'm going to get in the shower."

I've taken to showering at night because it gives me a little more time sleep in the next morning. It's become routine.

"Oh, okay," he says, sounding a bit dejected as he stands.

"Jackson, that was an invitation," I say softly, taking his hand as he helps me up, too.

Standing under the water jet, I cover my face with my hands and rub my palms over my skin, letting out a long breath. Jackson pulls the glass door open and steps inside with me, getting his hair wet under the warm water as he does. He picks up the shampoo from the rack hanging from the showerhead and squirts some into his hands, rubbing them together before motioning for me to spin around and lean my head back.

His fingers work it into my scalp and I let my eyes close. We don't have to exchange any conversation, being with each other in silence is enough. When I turn around to rinse, I find him watching me intensely with emotion laden in his eyes.

With all the shampoo rinsed out, my hair lies flat on my head and sticks to my neck and shoulders. I take a step closer to Jackson and rest my palms on his chest, looking up at his face and blinking slowly before resting my cheek over his heartbeat. I wrap my arms around his back, letting my cheeks squish against him, and close my eyes briefly.

"I love you," I say, dragging my fingernails up his muscular back.

He smooths my hair down and kisses the top of my head. I want, more than anything right now, for my pregnant belly not to be impeding the proximity of our bodies, but that's not changing. He can't lift me up and have sex with me against the shower wall, but I need to get closer. I need to be connected to him, I need that grounding force.

So I turn around, arms against the slick, tiled wall, and let my forehead rest against my wrist as I arch my back towards him. He knows what I want without my having to ask; I know this when I feel his hands on my hip creases, pulling my body flush against his. When I feel his lips on my skin, between my shoulder blades, along my spine, on the dimples at the small of my back. When he pushes inside me, slow and deliberate, while keeping my lower half still.

My eyelashes flutter. He pumps his hips with refined motion, knowing just what will get me close and what will pull me away. I let my chest sink further forward, surrendering my body to his control, and he takes good care of me. He's thought-out and gentle, unhurried. There's no spanking, no sly comments, no teasing. Just us, the two of us, creating something. Connecting. Being present and loving each other.

He tucks his face into the side of my neck as I come, and my mouth falls open as I reach around and grapple for his hand, landing it on my breast while I wind down. He squeezes it tightly, lips attached to my pulse point, and quickens his thrusts. When he gets there, he presses the front of his body against the back of mine and holds me close, whispering words into my ear that I can't understand and don't need to.

The only thing I hold onto is what he finishes with, arms wrapped below my belly, still inside me though we're empty and spent.

"I love you."

 _I was lying sideways on my bed, my hair hanging over one side and my knees bent over the other, staring at my ceiling, bored out of my mind. It was a snow day in the middle of February during our sophomore year; my younger sisters were playing at a friend's house and Libby was babysitting. I was stuck inside with a sinus infection._

 _I rolled over onto my stomach and sniffled in loudly, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. I was miserable, my head was heavy and my chest was full of pressure. I had already taken my morning dosage of cold medicine and my mom came down hard on not taking too much. I was out of luck until after dinner._

 _I had nothing to do. I couldn't go outside, I couldn't go to church with my parents because I was supposed to stay home and rest, and I didn't have enough concentration to read._

 _I was about to either die of boredom or take a nap when the phone rang in the kitchen. Even without anyone else at home, I ran to answer it._

 _"Hello?"_

 _"Hey." It was Jackson. A very dejected-sounding Jackson._

 _"What's up?"_

 _"You sound like a frog," he said, and laughed. "Still sick?"_

 _"Yeah," I said, leaning against the counter and absentmindedly twirling the phone cord around my wrist. "Good thing it's a snow day. I would've had to stay home anyway."_

 _He sighed heavily. I could tell something was on his mind._

 _"What's going on with you?" I asked. "You're acting very dramatic."_

 _"I don't wanna ask," he said. "You're sick."_

 _"Yeah, and bored out of my mind," I said. "Hit me. Anything you say is gonna be better than playing connect-the-dots with the dust on my ceiling."_

 _"That's nasty," he said, laughing again. "But I just need help with this group project I'm doing."_

 _"The one for biology?" I asked. My group was already finished; we turned it in early on the previous Monday. It was due on Friday, which was the next day._

 _"Yeah," he said. "And my group ditched me. I'm doing all the work, and I don't think I'm gonna finish. Which means I'm gonna fail. So my mom's gonna kill me."_

 _"I can help," I said. "We're already done."_

 _"I don't wanna copy," he said._

 _"As if I'd let you," I said, scoffing. "Let me get my boots and coat on. I'll be right over."_

 _"Angel, are you sure?" he asked. "You're sick. I don't wanna make you worse."_

 _"Would you rather come over here and risk getting yelled at by my dad? After being ratted out by my tattletale sisters when they come home?" I ask._

 _"Okay, okay," he said. "See you in a few."_

 _His house was warm and homey when I went inside, stomping the snow from my boots in the front entryway. There was light coming from the dining room and the smell of pizza, which attracted me instantly. When I made my way in, I saw that there was an open box on the dining room table, along with a neon green poster board and other various art supplies._

 _"Hey," I said, pulling out a chair and making myself comfortable._

 _He gave me a weak smile and offered me a piece of pizza, which I took. "How're you feeling?"_

 _"Better now that I'm out of my house," I said, chewing. "What do you have here? What was your guys' experiment?"_

 _He told me that his group had tested what types of liquids affect the kidneys in what ways. They each drank a different liquid for a whole day, whether it was water, Gatorade, juice, or pop, and documented how many times they peed._

 _"That's disgusting," I said._

 _"It was Derek's idea," he said. "Not mine. And we already have all the data, I just have to put all the results and make it look nice on this stupid poster board. They were supposed to come over and help me, but they all flaked. Made up dumb excuses. And now I have to do it by myself."_

 _"Not by yourself," I said, sitting up on my knees and grabbing a handful of markers. "Your handwriting is awful. Ms. Grey will mark you down if it looks bad, so let me write. And you read me all the information. And when we have all of it down, we can draw the pictures together."_

 _He smiled at me. "Seriously?" he asked. "You don't mind?"_

 _I settled down with my elbows on the large piece of paper. "I wouldn't offer if I did," I said. "Start reading."_

 _He read the information off slowly to give me time to write it neatly, and soon the whole sheet was filled up with my pretty, curly handwriting. I overlapped the pencil with marker to make it look more official, and then the two of us got to work on illustrating._

 _He played music, the whole Justified album by Justin Timberlake, and we took plenty of breaks to finish off the pizza and laugh at stupid things that happened at school the day before. By the time we were finished, we were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, drawing right next to the other, deep in thought._

 _"Is that the last thing?" I asked, sitting back on my heels to look at the work we'd done. The poster looked great, maybe even better than the one my group made._

 _He looked over his fact sheet. "I think so," he said, then nodded. "Yeah, it is. We're done. Thank god." He took a look at it too, and I could tell he was impressed._

 _"It looks good," I said._

 _"Yeah, thanks to you," he said, and I could hear the relief layered in his voice. "I couldn't have done it on my own. It would've turned out like shit."_

 _I rolled my eyes and shoved him with my shoulder. "Don't cuss," I said._

 _"Seriously, Angel!" he said, grabbing my shoulders and looking at me dead-on._

 _"It's no big deal," I said, shrugging and avoiding eye contact. My cheeks were starting to heat up with a blush, and I wanted to hide it._

 _"It is," he insisted. "Honestly, thank you. I feel so much better. Geez, I love you for this!"_

 _He cleared his throat, realizing what he said. I realized it, too, and let the words sink in. It was always a given fact that we loved each other - we were best friends. But we'd never said it out loud before, probably in fear of this exact awkward moment upon us right now._

 _"I mean, obviously for more than just this," he said, covering. "I love you because you're my best friend, and-and best friends love each other. Like friends. Best friends." He sighed, staring down at the table and all of our art supplies strewn around. "I'm gonna stop talking now."_

 _I giggled and stood up from the chair, backing away. I paused before I asked, "It's okay to say it, right?"_

 _He shrugged, eyes widening. "I guess," he said. "There's no rule against it."_

 _"Don't go saying it at school," I mumbled._

 _"Why?" he asked. "Do you have a boyfriend I don't know about who'd get jealous?"_

 _"No," I said, punching his arm. "Shut up. It's for your sake. If Alex heard you say that you love me, he'd never leave you alone."_

 _"Oh, fuck him," Jackson said, and my mouth gaped._

 _"Jackson," I hissed._

 _"Sorry," he said. "But if you're worried about him for me, don't be. I'll scream that I love you in front of him just to see how he reacts. Angel, he's just jealous. We're like, the ultimate best friends. He wishes he had someone who even cared about him just a little bit. It's so pathetic."_

 _"He probably has a bad home life," I said, playing with the ends of my hair._

 _"Yeah, well, that's not my problem. When he takes it out on you, that is my problem. So, don't worry about him. I… I'll tell you I love you whenever I feel it. Whenever it wants to come out. I don't care who hears." He paused, then lifted his eyes to mine. "If that's okay with you."_

 _I nodded bashfully. "It's okay with me," I said. He looked at me expectantly, eyebrows raised. "What?" I asked, shrugging confusedly._

 _"Well?" he prompted._

 _"Well, what?" I echoed._

 _He sighed loudly. "Aren't you gonna say it back?"_

 _I burst into laughter, leaning forward on the table with a smile on my face. "Oh," I said, drawing out the word. "Duh. I love you, too, Jackson."_

I won't come to terms with the fact that Grace's case of Twin-to-Twin Transfusion Syndrome, or TTTS, wasn't caught sooner.

There were ways we could've helped her. Fetal surgery, which is a new field for Borgess Hospital, but possible. We could've gotten Nicole Herman in and she could've done a procedure that would've helped Grace get the nutrients she needed.

But it wasn't caught in time.

Instead, she died inside me. While I was unaware, my daughter's life faded before she could take her first breath, before I could hear her first cry.

Isla's nutrients have leveled out since Grace's passing. That's what Arizona had said, at least. In some cases, the levels of the recipient twin can get too high, which causes a risk for heart failure. But not in Isla's case. As for her, she's as healthy as ever while her twin sister is permanently stunted at her side, leaving her portion of their shared placenta unused.

Isla is none the wiser, of course. But still, the image isn't a kind one.

I'm 22 weeks along. There isn't a safe way to get Grace out now without seriously harming Isla. Surgery comes with great risks, risks that come dangerously close to Isla's life and wellbeing. I can't take those risks, I won't put another one of my baby's lives up for grabs like that.

The price I have to pay is large. Unimaginable for a mother who, just hours ago, thought she was carrying two healthy and thriving babies.

The news I can't wrap my head around is simple, yet seemingly impossible. Since the risks of surgery are insurmountable, I have to see Grace through. I have to carry my dead daughter to term and deliver her with her living sister.


	14. Chapter 14

_The last chapter before the epilogue!_

JACKSON

At 33 weeks pregnant, April's stomach is the first thing people notice about her.

In comparison to her small frame, it protrudes and demands to be seen. There's no hiding it, even when she wears loose sweaters and jeans with an elastic waistband. It's there, it's obvious that she's pregnant, but she won't talk about it.

When strangers ask the gender of the baby in the grocery store, she smiles demurely and shakes her head without answering. She tells them we don't know the due date, and ignores the confused stares in response.

She always says those people don't know our lives, they're just being nosy. They don't need to know, and they shouldn't. It's our business, and it should stay between us.

But she won't discuss it at home, either. If the obvious baby bump wasn't visible, I think she'd pretend she wasn't pregnant at all.

I go to group therapy now without her accompanying me. The first time that happened I was heartbroken and blindsided, but discovered I don't mind going by myself. I don't like the sympathetic glances it earns me, but it makes me feel less like I have to take care of April and like I can just take care of myself for an hour.

But I don't talk about Grace. Even without April there, I won't betray her like that. The group still doesn't know; doesn't know that we'll only be having one baby come ten weeks. There will not be two.

I feel like I'm betraying Dr. Altman in our individual sessions by not telling her the whole truth about our twins. I know she can tell something is off with me, because I see it in her face. I know I'm acting differently, more reserved, more pulled into myself like the flashbacks used to force me to act. I don't want to go back to that dark place, and I've been good about staying out of it.

But with Grace gone, yet still somehow omnipresent, it's been harder than ever not to slip back into my old habits.

I come home from therapy today to a quiet house. Usually, April is cooking dinner at this time, but the kitchen is clean and untouched. I drag my fingertips along the granite countertop and walk through the living room on the way to the stairs, but notice her on the couch sitting in the dark.

She has her hands on her stomach, staring ahead. "You okay?" I ask, concerned. My head feels heavy and bogged down with information I just dug through with Dr. Altman. I don't know if I can shoulder a breakdown from April right now, but I will if I have to. I'll be strong for her if she needs me to be.

"Fine," she says, eyes landing nowhere specific.

"Okay," I say cautiously. "You sure?"

"Yeah," she answers.

"You're sitting here alone in the dark," I say.

"I was thinking," she says.

I sit down on the couch a few feet away from her. I feel like she's just out of my reach, and I can't pull her back. I wonder if this is how she felt when I was going through my strife. My strife that technically isn't over yet, but I'd like to think I've made it through the storm.

"About what?" I ask. I reach and cap her knee with my hand, stroking the fabric of her jeans with my thumb. Her stomach may be growing like crazy, but her legs have stayed skinny as ever.

She shakes her head slightly. "I don't know."

I study her face, trying to decode what's going on in her mind. As the weeks pass, she's become more and more unrecognizable. The energy in the house has changed. I want to go back to how it was before, when we were excited about our twins and getting the house ready for their arrival. Now, the preparations have come to a halt. It's like we aren't having a child at all.

I don't know how to force her into action, either. It's not like I feel fine about Grace, I never stop thinking about the fact that April is harboring the body of our dead child inside hers. I never stop wondering what it'll be like when she goes into labor. I dream about it, hearing the heavy silence in the room when Grace comes out. But I can't talk about it with April. I can't talk about it with anyone.

I've learned that bottling up my emotions doesn't help me or anyone involved, but I have no other choice.

Interrupting the darkness of the living room, headlights pull into the driveway and shine on the opposite wall. April's attention flits over to them, and I stand up from the couch to look out the picture window.

"It's Amelia," I say, squinting to see our friend get out of her car.

"What is she doing here?" April asks, voice quiet.

"I don't know," I say. "Did you invite her?"

"No," she says, like it's obvious. "Why would I do that?" I walk away from the window towards the front door, ready to let her in. "I don't feel like company," April continues. "Can you please just tell her not tonight?"

I place a hand on the wall and look back at the shell of my best friend, sitting in the same spot on the couch. I nod minutely, then go to answer the door where Amelia is standing with something that looks like a big photo album in her hands.

She waves through the window, and I open the door. "Hey," I say, blocking the door frame in the most subtle way I can.

"Hey, Jackson," Amelia says, an eager smile on her face. "Can I come in? I was hoping to talk to you guys about baby shower stuff."

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. "I… I don't know if that's the best idea tonight," I say. "April's not feeling up to it, I don't think."

Amelia furrows her eyebrows. "Is she okay?" she asks.

"She's fine," I say. "She just needs time alone. Quiet time."

"I didn't bring a party," Amelia says. "It's only me. I'll just check on her. Just for a second."

Without resorting to force to keep Amelia out, I have to let her in. I move my shoulders to the side and she strides in the door, looking for April.

"April, honey?" she calls. "It's me. Where are you?"

"Living room," I mutter.

Amelia turns into the dark room, but looks back at me with a confused expression. "No, she's not," she says.

For some reason, panic rises in my gut. I don't know what goes through April's mind lately, and I don't know what she's capable of. When she does unexpected, rash things like disappear from a room that it seemed she was sedentary in, I always think the worst.

But I'm proven wrong instantly. She comes down the stairs, looked freshened up and shiny. She's even wearing a smile, which I haven't seen in ages.

"Hi, Amy," she says, hand resting on the back of a dining room chair.

I look at April, confused as ever. This is a total 180 from how I had found her, on the couch as a shell of a person, barely able to say a handful of words.

"Hey," Amelia says. "I was hoping you'd be home. Is it alright if I sit? Talk for a while? Jackson said you might not feel up to it, but…"

"Sure," April says, pulling out a chair. "Of course." The smile on her face is nearly painful now. I can't stand to look at it for long.

Amelia smiles and looks at me briefly, like she's proving me wrong somehow. I shake my head slightly and sigh with a bit of annoyance, confused at the situation. Just moments ago, April had been nearly catatonic on the couch and now she's playing the role of perfect hostess. I don't understand the transformation or why it occurred. I don't know what facade she's trying to paint right now, but it isn't fooling me.

"Nice of you to stop over," April says, her voice sugar-sweet. It's so fake sweet it makes my teeth hurt.

Amelia gives her a look. "Well, yeah," she says. "Sorry it was late notice."

"No notice at all," April slides in, barely discernible. But I catch it.

There's a small beat of silence before Amelia starts in again.

"So, I brought this over," Amelia says, setting the book on the table. "It's a photo album I put together of baby shower ideas from Pinterest. I've been working on it like crazy. Owen says I'm obsessed, but I just want this to be perfect for you guys." She looks at April with shining eyes. "You deserve it."

April stares, unblinking. She clears her throat and sets her hands on the table, folding them together as silence sits heavy between the three of us.

"I don't know what to say," she finally mutters, the sweetness disappeared from her tone.

Amelia throws open the cover of the book and it lands heavily right in the middle of the pages. From where I'm sitting, I can see pink everything. I quite can't discern what I'm looking at, but it's obvious it's taken dedication on Amelia's part. She put real work into this, and I'm impressed.

"You don't have to say anything," Amelia says. "I'll walk you through it."

She turns the book towards April, but April makes no moves to look at it. She directs her eyes down towards the table and draws her lower lip into her mouth, running her teeth over it. I know that look. It's not a good one.

Her eyebrows furrow, creating a crinkle in the middle of her forehead. Amelia notices that she isn't looking and pushes the photo album closer, scooting her chair as she goes, but April doesn't respond.

"What I mean is…" April begins. "I don't need to see it."

Amelia chuckles. "I know, it's a lot. I won't make you look through the whole thing, don't worry. It'd take ten years, anyway. I forced Owen to do that and he practically fell asleep. I mean, the whole thing is basically for me, you know, my vision. But I just want to make sure it matches yours. You know, pass it by you before I go planning any of this."

She offers a smile to April only to have it go unreturned.

"No," April says, more firmly now. "I don't want to see it."

Amelia looks at her, confused. "What?" she says. "Why?"

"There won't be a baby shower," April says, her tone even.

I frown, equally as surprised as Amelia. This is the first I've heard of this. We haven't been talking about baby prep at all, but I never thought that she'd call off the baby shower. That wasn't even on my radar.

"What do you mean, no baby shower?" Amelia asks, hands flat on either side of the open book.

"Just what I said," April continues. "No baby shower. Thank you, for everything you've done. Really. But I won't be having one."

She stands up from the table with difficulty, one hand on her lower back and the other pressing on the wood for leverage. I follow her with my eyes, but Amelia follows on her feet.

"Just because what happened with Grace-" she begins, but gets cut off immediately.

"Don't say 'just,'" April snaps. "It wasn't 'just' something that happened. My child died. No, my child _is_ dead. Right now, inside me."

Amelia's shoulders deflate. "I-I know," she says, luster gone from her voice.

"Do you know?" April asks. "Do you? Do you know how it feels to have one baby kicking inside you, knowing that her sister's corpse is floating next to her, probably getting every blow?"

"April," I say, and the sternness of my voice surprises even myself.

"No," she says. "Don't 'April' me. It's true. I'm not having a baby shower. I'm not having a baby shower where everyone will ask me how my twins are doing, and I'll have to lie. Because no one wants to hear about a dead baby during a celebration, right?" She shakes her head vehemently, hair flying. "No. I won't do it. I won't endure that just to get a bunch of gifts and-and see people smiling and laughing and playing games and touching my stomach. I won't."

I stand up from my chair and the two of them turn to look at me. "But what about Isla?" I ask. "What about that living baby that you're forgetting?"

She narrows her eyes at me. "I'm not forgetting about her," she says. She gestures to her beach ball sized stomach. "How could I? How could I forget about this?"

I sigh. "That's not what I mean," I say.

"He means, you're taking this celebration away from her while trying to protect something that's already gone," Amelia finishes.

I can't say that she's wrong.

"Someone," April says, teeth gritted. "Some _one_. Not something. My baby is a someone."

"Of course she is," Amelia says. "Was."

"Is," April insists, hands flat on her stomach. "She's still right here. In this room, just like you and me. She's right here."

"I know," Amelia says submissively.

"But so is Isla!" I exclaim. "She's right here, too. And she deserves your attention. She deserves a baby shower. She deserves recognition."

April shakes her head again, her lips turning down. "I can't subject myself to that," she says, voice wobbling. "I know what everyone's gonna be thinking. You know, if they find out. Oh, April. Poor April, with the dead baby inside her. Poor April, how does she do it? I couldn't do it." She wipes her nose. "And they'd be right. They couldn't. But I am. I have to. I have to go through every day knowing what's inside me. And neither of you do, so stop telling me how I should feel."

"Honey, no one's-" Amelia says, but gets interrupted.

"Yes, you are!" she shouts. "And stop calling me honey!"

"Hey," I say, taking a few steps closer. "Breathe."

She looks at me with a panicked expression in her eyes as her chest heaves with exertion. Her face is red and her inhales are shallow, and by the look on her face I can tell she's about to start hyperventilating.

"Come on," I say, ushering her to the nearest chair. "Sit. Breathe. You're fine."

I look at Amelia, who backs away.

"I can't do it," April says, leaned back with her eyes closed. "I know you think I should. I know you both think I'm horrible for not doing this for Isla. But I just can't." She opens her eyes and looks deep into mine. "I just can't, okay?"

I take her hand and rub circles over her smooth skin before bringing it up to my lips. "Okay," I say softly. I look back towards Amelia with hooded eyes. "You should probably go," I say. "I'll walk you out."

I see Amelia to the door while exchanging meaningless apologies, and shut it behind her. When I go back out to the living room, April is no longer sitting down and is instead, pacing the room.

"Babe, what are you doing?" I ask. "Come on. Sit back down. You're fine, it's okay, just…"

"No," she says, and I can see she's worked herself into a sweat. "I can't sit down." She throws a glance at me, then tears it away. "I did this. I put myself in this situation."

I stare at her, confused. "What are you talking about?" I ask.

"It had to be something I did," she says. "It's my fault. Who else's fault could it have been?"

"Are you talking about Grace?" I say.

"Of course I'm talking about Grace!" she explodes, face red. "Do you think I think about anything else, ever? Ever, Jackson?"

I stay quiet. I don't know how to respond.

"I can't do this," she mutters. "I can't go through with this."

I keep my eyes on her big belly, long past the point of no return. I still don't know what to say.

"How can I take care of her?" April murmurs, her voice barely there. She smooths one hand over the material of her shirt, evening out the wrinkles. "How can I be trusted with Isla when I let Grace die right next to her?"

My heart plummets to my feet. I walk over, and she stops in her tracks to look me dead in the eyes.

"How can you look at me and know I killed our baby?" she says, lower lip trembling. "I can't keep Isla safe. I couldn't do it for Grace. What makes you think I can do it for our other baby?" Her breath rattles in her chest. "Her sister died right next to her. Did she know? Does she know right now, that something isn't right?" She starts to cry, full-out sobbing. "I went about my life not knowing she was dead. I didn't do anything to stop it. I could've done something. I could've done something."

My grip on her shoulders slackens and my hands drop to my sides as I have the first flashback that I've had in months. I get an image of myself holding a faceless baby that I assume to be my own, but her body is amorphous and bending in all the wrong ways. I hear screaming, but I can't be sure if it's coming from her. I want to do something, but I'm powerless. I feel such a human connection with this inhuman form in my grasp, and I have no idea where to begin in helping it.

As I'm holding the childlike mass, the older sister and her infant brother from the Middle East pass by and make eye contact with me before collapsing into bony heaps in the dust. The mass in my arms stops screaming, but melts into curdled blood in my hands as it seeps down to the dusty ground.

There's blood on my hands. There will always be blood on my hands.

When I come back, April is still crying. Her shoulders are shaking and she's looking into my eyes with bloodshot ones of her own, arms folded into herself. She's begging to be held, begging to be protected and sheltered.

She's the one person who I won't let down, not again. If I can make sure anyone can depend on me, it'll be her. I won't let her know the pain I'm feeling because she's feeling enough of her own. I won't shoulder her with extra.

I wrap my arms tight around her and kiss the top of her head. "I got you," I say. "You're already an amazing mother. You're doing something for our babies that no one else could. You were right before; no one else could do this."

"I killed her," she sobs, face pressed against the material of my shirt.

My body trembles with the imminent threat of being sent back, but I stay.

"You didn't," I say. "You did everything you could."

We're lying awake in bed a few nights later, our breathing the only sound in the room. We both know the other isn't sleeping, but we aren't speaking. But it feels like there are words begging to be said.

I sigh and feel April shift beside me. "I think we should consider changing Isla's name," I say, voice cutting through the darkness.

She turns onto her side, slowly as she compensates for her stomach. "What?" she says.

I blink up at the ceiling without turning to look at her. "I think we should consider-"

"No, I heard you," she says. "You're just not making any sense."

"It means 'island,'" I say. "Islands are alone. Don't you think that's a little on the nose for her… situation?"

"No," April says, voice lowering. "I don't think we should change her name."

"Can we at least talk about it?" I ask. "Listen to what I have to say."

"I am," she says.

"April," I say.

"Fine," she says. "Why do you want to change it? The baby who we've had named for months, why now? Why not before, when we first found out?"

"I've been thinking about it for a while," I say. "I don't want her growing up with that memory weighing on her."

"Grace is her sister," April defends. "She'll always know that."

"I know," I say, keeping my voice even so hers will stay that way, too. "What I'm saying is that her name shouldn't be a constant reminder of how alone she is."

There's a heady pause where I wonder if she's seen my side.

"She's not alone," April says. "She has us."

"That… you know what I mean. I… of course she does."

She props herself up on one elbow. "That baby died inside my body, Jackson," she says. "It's a part of our lives now. That-that empty space is always going to be there, no matter what you do. So, I don't think taking away our baby's identity after we've gotten used to it will do anything to change that."

I don't back down, but I don't respond with words. Instead, I just stare into her eyes. They're hard with a layer of impeccable softness beneath. I'm not sure if mine read the same.

"Isla is her name," April says, lying back down and solidifying it. "It's who she is. The fact that her sister died doesn't change the fact that we know her as Isla."

I stay quiet. She doesn't talk for a few minutes, either, and I wonder if we're going to fall asleep at odds with each other.

But just as it begins to softly rain, April turns to look at me as she's on her back again. Her gaze is soft and her eyes are teary, and I let her take my hand when she reaches across to grab it.

"She's our Isla," she mutters, voice laced with tears. "She's what we know." She sniffles. "Anything different just wouldn't feel right."

I lick my lips, seeing her point. Some part of me would always revert to calling her Isla, some part would always remember what almost was. I come to grips with the fact that April is right. It wouldn't make much sense to change it if the memory will always sit there anyway, demanding to be acknowledged.

Isla is what she will be.

A couple days later, I wake up to find April's side of the bed empty. Since she's been home from work, she usually sleeps later than me, so her absence is out of the ordinary.

I don't think much of it, though, as I make a stop in the bathroom before heading downstairs. What is strange is the sound of the front door coming open, letting in the blustery mid-spring wind, as April steps inside wearing workout gear.

"Where've you been?" I ask, still groggy. The sky is gray and overcast, threatening rain.

"Went on a walk," she says, slipping out of her shoes with difficulty.

"Oh," I say, finding it strange but not saying anything in regards. Lately, she's been touchy over the most benign issues. I've learned that it's smart to keep my mouth shut over things that don't matter. "Okay. Want some breakfast?"

She follows me into the kitchen, leaning forward with her weight rested on her palms as she looks down at the table. "I don't think so," she says. "Not that hungry."

"You alright?" I ask, noticing her strange posture.

She straightens almost instantly. "I'm fine," she says, brushing hair away from her face. "Perfectly fine. I'll just have some water."

I keep an eye on her as she downs an entire glass in seconds flat. Still, I don't call attention to it. I make my own breakfast and watch her disappear upstairs to take a shower, aloof as ever.

I leave to go for a run while April is still upstairs, and when I come back she's pacing in the kitchen while breathing heavily. Her brow is knitted and she's sweating, though she already washed off her exercise from earlier. I leave her alone as I go about my day, telling myself that if something's wrong, she'll come to me.

But she doesn't. She continues to act strangely all day until I can't ignore it or write it off anymore. While she's sitting on the couch with her knees spread and hands wide on her belly, she closes her eyes and lets out a long stream of breath through puckered lips.

"April," I say, approaching. "Are you having contractions?"

It would explain her breathing, her pacing… the contractions must be getting closer together as the hours pass.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "Well, yeah. But just Braxton-Hicks."

She had Braxton-Hicks once before during this pregnancy, but they only lasted for about an hour. These contractions are going on six hours, and they aren't letting up.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Of course I'm sure," she says, standing after pushing off the couch's arm. "It's my body. I'd know if I was-" Her sentence breaks in half as she lurches forward, surprised by the sudden onset of pain. "I'd know if I was in labor," she finishes, voice forced.

I try to think of a way to rationalize this with her, but before I have a chance, something splashes all over the hardwood floor between her feet.

"Shit," I murmur, taking a step closer. "April, your water. You're in labor. We have to get to the hospital."

I take her wrist, but she holds strong and doesn't move. "It's fine, Jackson," she says, rooted to where she stands. She pulls her wrist out of my grasp. "I'm fine. I don't need to go. That isn't… just because my water broke doesn't mean we have to go rushing off. I'm okay here. I want to be at home."

I narrow my eyes. "Your water breaking is a great reason to get to the hospital," I say. "Do you think I can deliver this baby here, on my own? No way in hell."

Something flashes across her eyes. "Babies," she corrects. "Deliver the babies."

I swallow. "Right," I say.

"I'm not going," she says, planting herself back on the couch. I don't bother bringing up that the seat of her pants is wet and she's probably leaving a stain on the cushion.

"You don't really have a choice," I say. "April, your water broke."

"That doesn't mean anything," she says, raising her eyes to meet mine. "My body isn't ready. I would know. I'll know when the twins are ready, and that's not now. We have plenty of time."

I gently sit next to her on the couch and take her hand, which she lets me do. "Who's not ready?" I ask. "You, or the twins?"

She looks at me, the expression in her eyes transparent and unbelievably vulnerable.

"They're not ready," she says, on the brink of tears. "I'm keeping them in here." She places her free hand on her stomach. "Right in here, where they're safe."

She sniffles and blinks at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling, but it doesn't quite work. I stay quiet, letting her talk as I know she'll say more.

Finally she whispers, "I can't do it."

I stroke her skin, urging her along.

"I can't give birth to Grace," she admits, letting her head hang.

I move my hand from hers to touch her hair, smoothing it away from her face as she looks at the ground with desperate eyes. "You can," I say.

She shakes her head. "I don't think so," she says. "I'm not strong enough. I… I need to keep her safe, inside me. If she's inside me, she's alive."

I pull April closer so her head is resting on my shoulder, and she lets me. I wrap an arm around her and speak, my lips moving against the top of her head. "She's not," I murmur, just loud enough for her to hear. "You know that, and I'm so sorry she's not." I sway us back and forth, kissing her hair intermittently. "But we gotta go. We need to make sure Isla's safe."

And without words, she agrees.

We're getting our things together, just about to walk out the door when April stops in her tracks. "Wait," she says, and I flip around to see her standing in the middle of the kitchen with her phone in her hand.

"What?" I ask.

She turns the phone this way and that, lips pinched together as she thinks of what to say. "We need to call the morgue," she says quietly, extending the phone to me.

I walk over, dropping the bag that she packed a few weeks ago. As I take her phone, she unzips the bag and pulls something out that I had no idea was in there.

It's a pink blanket with a lamb sewn in the corner, and in that same corner is a cursive, monogrammed name: Grace Alexis Kepner-Avery.

"She should be wrapped in this," April says, holding it close. "When she goes."

I call the morgue and tell them our situation, and arrange for our infant daughter to be taken away from us.

The trip to the hospital is a blur. Somehow, April gets set up in a delivery room and attached to a myriad of wires, and Dr. Montgomery doesn't wait long to join us. I'm comforted by her presence; she's calm under pressure and her voice is soothing as April escalates into hysterics.

Dr. Montgomery sits on the side of April's bed and takes her hands, holding on tight. "We're going to perform an everyday C-section on you, April," she says. "No reason to be nervous. You know I do this every day."

April nods shakily, never breaking eye contact from the red-haired doctor.

"We're going to remove Grace first," Dr. Montgomery says. "I need to know this before we start, do you want to hold her?"

April looks to me and I look back, both of us equally unsure. Grace has been dead for eleven weeks, possibly longer. She won't look like a normal newborn child. I know April is aware of that, too.

"No," she says, looking back to the doctor. "I can't… No. I don't want to remember her like that." She takes my hand and looks at me eagerly, needing validation. "I want to remember her alive."

I squeeze her fingers and kiss her knuckles with purpose. "Then that's what we'll do," I say.

Dressed in scrubs, I sit at the head of April's bed and hold her hand as they cut her open. I press my lips to her temple as she holds me with everything she's got, crushing my fingers to the point of pain.

"You're doing perfect," I say, tears streaming down my face. She is doing a wonderful job; I know for a fact this is something I could never do myself. A woman's body is something to be revered, marveled at.

And more than just her body, her mind. She's seeing off her dead child, one whose life she harbored within her womb for the entire time Grace was on this earth. For the whole time she had a life, it was April's. April carried her and saw her through, beginning to end.

There's no stronger bond than that.

"Okay, April, I'm going to make the incision now," Dr. Montgomery says, poised at April's midsection wearing a facemask. "You'll feel a bit of pressure, but no pain."

Somehow, her grip on me tightens further. Physically, she'll feel no pain. It would be too much to bear if she did. The emotional pain is enough.

I watch Dr. Montgomery's arm move in a clean, lateral motion, and April gasps. She looks at me with glistening eyes and inhales sharply, whimpering, "I'm scared."

"I got you," I whisper, leaning to kiss her lips. Hers are dry and chapped, but I pay no mind. I solidify my grip on her fingers. "I'm right here. I got you."

She starts to cry, tears pouring from her eyes to trail over her temples and into her ears. I wipe them away as best I can, keeping an eye on what's happening past the sheet.

The silence in the room is present as any person standing alongside us. It watches, it listens, it blankets the room like a cloak, lying heavy on everyone's shoulders and making sure we acknowledge it.

Dr. Montgomery moves quickly as she removes Grace, and the doctors speak in hushed tones as they carefully handle her body. I can't see her, and I don't try to look. I don't think that image should sit in my mind, even tucked away. I want to remember her as I'd imagined her - curly hair, shining eyes, and a smile to end all others.

I don't want to remember her wrapped in the blanket we bought when we first found out, giddy to the point of ridiculousness. I don't want to imagine her in the only other warmth she's ever known besides the embrace of her mother's body. If I catch a glimpse of that tiny, lifeless infant, the image I created will be erased like it never existed it at all.

"Grace is out," Dr. Montgomery says. The room stills, observing the moment. The doctor looks over the curtain and meets each of our eyes. "She's safe. We wrapped her in her blanket, her body will be taken care of and moved to the morgue. It's all handled." She blinks meaningfully, and if I'm not mistaken, her eyes are glassy too. "You did it," she says, voice holding purpose. "She's safe."

April sobs loudly, breaking the film that coated the room. She throws her head back and squeezes her eyes shut tight, mouth wide open in a loud, unapologetic wail.

I hold her head to my chest and kiss her over and over, anywhere I can reach. I whisper nothingness into her ear, knowing that my words won't soothe her. But I need to do something.

Dr. Montgomery moves on. She gets back to work, arms moving just as fluidly, and before a moment can pass, I see her shoulders heaving as she lifts something much bigger out of April's body.

"Isla," Dr. Montgomery says, her voice triumphant. "Isla's here. Isla's here, and… April, she's beautiful."

As if prompted by her introduction, the strongest, most confident cry splits the air and joins her mother's. But upon hearing the baby, April's breath catches in her throat and she pushes her way from my arms, blinking and disoriented.

The nurses move fast as they cut the cord and clear out Isla's mouth and nose. April watches as they do, and Dr. Montgomery brings her over.

"I'd like you to meet your beautiful baby girl," she says, lowering Isla onto April's chest. Bare skin against bare skin, April holds our daughter close and kisses her wet, slicked-down hair. Dr. Montgomery looks at the pair of them and whispers, "It was clear to me while I was in there, and I think you should know…" Her eyes flit to me, then back to April and our baby. "That Grace died saving Isla's life. Neither would've made it had she not gone."

April lets out a long sob, pressing the side of her face to our squalling baby's crown. "Thank you," she sobs, fat tears dripping and sliding down wet skin. "Thank you."

When the nurses take Isla to clean her up and get her vitals, April gets stitched back up by expert hands. She lies there, spent, holding my hand much gentler than before.

After it's over, I climb on the bed and hold her close, nuzzling her cheek with my nose while telling her what an amazing thing she did.

Flashes of images rush through my mind, inundating me with memories and feelings I thought I'd forgotten. And instead of terrifying, morbid flashbacks, they're good. They're warm and comforting, nostalgic like a thick blanket. They're us.

I see April and me at age 10, sitting in my treehouse with our knobby knees touching, flipping through our trading cards. I always gave her my best ones.

I see us at 12, running through the creek behind her house with our jeans pushed up to our knees. Grubby hands intertwined, steadying each other when our feet slip on mossy rocks.

I see us at 15, sitting in English class side-by-side while the teacher talks. I push her hand as she writes notes, and she smacks me away while pretending to be mad. She hides her smile, but I know it's there.

I see us at 17, almost 18, saying goodbye. Lingering in my kitchen, trading 'I love yous.' I see the tears running down her cheeks, I hear myself calling her 'Angel.' I see the back of her red-haired head as she walks across the street, away from me for what I always thought was the last time.

But I see us now. Lying here on a hospital bed, in each other's arms. I see our newborn baby nursing from her breast, content, healthy and loved. With my cheek pressed against April's head, I see the magic that is new life, a new story on its first page, come to be from so much history.


	15. Epilogue

APRIL

It's been a long day. I never thought a birthday party for a one-year-old would be such a big ordeal, but it was huge. Basically everyone we've ever known showed up to celebrate Isla's first year of life, all crammed into our house with balloons, pink streamers, and plenty of cake and ice cream.

Now, I'm working on cleaning up downstairs while Jackson gets the baby ready for bed. There's soft music playing from the radio as I do my best to cover the leftover cake in tin foil without smushing the frosting.

I smile at the heap of gifts left in the living room. She got new toys, new outfits, new everything it seems. She was giddy being the center of attention all day, and I loved watching her smile and take it all in.

But as I watched my little girl, my child who I've grown to know so well over the past year of her life, I couldn't help but imagine how her sister would like the party. Would she be outgoing and extroverted, like Isla and her father? Or would she be shy and reserved, uncomfortable at parties, like me?

I pictured Grace sitting next to her sister on the carpet, side-by-side in matching outfits. We still have some of the twin things we bought in the very beginning, much too small to fit Isla now. I couldn't bear to throw them away, erase what could've been. What almost was.

I stand in the living room, in front of the sliding glass door to look out at the neighborhood. I sigh, feeling for the square in my pocket that's been there all day. I take it out for the first time, looking with teary eyes at the first sonogram we got of the twins.

I stroke the round outline of Grace's head, who was then only Baby B, and let out a sad-sounding laugh.

"Happy birthday, Gracie," I whisper, continuing to trace the shape of her head. "I wish you could've been here today."

I smile as I think back to just hours ago when Isla smashed cake all over her face, laughing loudly. Jackson got a ton of pictures, and I couldn't stop smiling. She had banged the tray of her high chair, so pleased with herself, and put on a big show for everyone watching.

I go upstairs and tuck the sonogram back into the shoebox I retrieved it from, and change into my pajamas. I don't let myself linger on thoughts of Grace often, but today I think it's allowed. Necessary, even.

During Isla's first milestones, I thought about her twin. When she smiled, I wondered if Grace would have, too. When she said her first word, mama, I wondered if Grace would have said the same. Or dada. Or something completely different.

I used to wonder about their differences and similarities. I pondered what Grace would look like, how identical they would really be. Isla has her father's eyes and both of our freckles - would Grace have the same?

But I don't let myself dig her memory up frequently anymore. It's not good for anyone, and I've let her go. A few days prior to their birthday, I visited her grave and left her pale pink roses.

When we buried her, the coffin was incredibly small. Before that day, I never knew they were made that tiny; it never crossed my mind. I carried it from the hearse into the church on my own, without anyone's help. She was my baby. It was only right that I carry her to her final resting place.

I'll never know her like I know Isla. She'll always be that faraway image, never quite real. But I learned, after a months of pain, to accept that.

After I'm in pajamas, I cross the hallway to Isla's room. The lights are low and Jackson has our baby, dressed in a warm, long-sleeved onesie, propped up on his hip as they stand below the big mobile in the center of her room. They both look up at it, identical in their curiosity, as he bats the decorations with one hand.

When I walk through the door, socks making no noise on the carpet, his eyes shift to me and squint with happiness. "Hey, Mama," he says, absentmindedly kissing Isla's head. "All cleaned up downstairs?"

"Getting there," I say, leaning in the doorway. "I need your help. But all the food is put away."

He nods, his lips never leaving Isla's forehead. "This one's getting sleepy," he whispers. "She's ready for you."

When we're both home, we have the same bedtime ritual for Isla every night. Jackson gets her changed - clothes and diaper - and reads to her while I finish up whatever I'm doing downstairs. When I know they're ready, I come up and take her from him, and the two of us sit together in the rocking chair. She's still nursing, for comfort if nothing more, and that always lulls her to sleep. It's a time of day I wouldn't trade for anything.

I sit down in the chair and Jackson lowers Isla to my arms, and I hold her comforting weight close as I adjust my shirt. She finds her way to my breast instinctively, reaching to hold a handful of my hair like always, and I stroke her back.

Instead of making his way out of the nursery, Jackson stays tonight. And before resting my head and closing my eyes, I survey the room and let myself wonder what it would have been like for two.

I probably wouldn't still be breastfeeding at this point, with twins it's different. Harder. More scheduled, less casual. My guess is that a lot of things would be more routinized, organized.

But there is the perfect space for a crib on the wall opposite Isla's.

"You're beautiful," Jackson says, and his voice tears me from my vision. I look over at him to see that he's been watching the two of us in the place we know each other best. His eyes drift to the back of Isla's head as my fingers comb through her downy hair. "I wish she could stay this little."

"I know," I whisper. "In a few months, when this has to stop… I'll miss it."

We haven't talked about having another baby, not yet. It's a tender subject, given what happened to us last time. I'm not ready to shoulder the weight of that decision, or even that conversation. Right now, Isla is enough. Just one might always be enough.

But we're married now, we've been married for six months. The prospect is always there, waiting. Neither of us are going anywhere anytime soon.

Though the loss of Grace broke me, I fall in love with life all over again every day as I watch Isla live it. I cried when she saw rain for the first time, sitting on my hip with her light eyes squinted towards the sky, wondering without words how water could be falling outside. With every new day, every new experience, I mend a little more. When she looks me in the eye and smiles, I feel my heart suturing back together.

Jackson has continued his therapy. He hasn't had a flashback in months. He works at a nonprofit organization that creates homeless shelters for veterans. He's slowly returning to the way I once knew him. I no longer recognize the version that showed up at my doorstep more than two years ago.

But sometimes, I still see his anger. I feel it, too. But when I see the wonder in the smile of my daughter, it reminds me of dreams worth coming true.

And I know he feels the same way. She's the grounding force that always brings us back to earth.

"Today was fun," Jackson says, trailing a hand down Isla's back and running his fingers over my wrist.

"It was," I agree, blinking slowly and smiling at him in the dim light. Isla makes soft sounds against my chest, sighs and little hums as she eats. Her fingers open and close, freeing the hair she'd gathered in her fist, and she nestles closer. "She's so loved."

His eyes are warm on his daughter. "Yes, she is," he says, then looks to me. "And so are you."

"I love you, too," I whisper, puckering my lips like always. He leans over, kisses me, then sits back down.

As I look down at my baby girl, I know that everything is where it's supposed to be. Having her wasn't a choice, it was a fact. She was meant to be in our lives, meant to be ours. She's the perfect mixture of Jackson and me, showing us childlike innocence while reminding us how much we love each other. How far we've come.

The ten-year-old kids who bonded over books in Jackson's backyard now have a child together. A little baby girl with thoughts, feelings and a unique personality. A little girl who is so loved that it's spilling over the brim, unable to be contained. The love that we share is personified; we created another life from it.

I let my eyes roam to Jackson, who still has his gaze locked on Isla. My chest swells as I study the slopes and ridges of his face, knowing that I would have never been content with anyone else. We were always meant for each other, this is how our lives were supposed to be. When we met in the summer of 1995, there was no way we could've known that someday we'd be married and love each other beyond all limits. But now, I can't see another option. It was always him.

Isla falls asleep and her lips detach from me, and I lower my shirt and adjust her body without waking her. With her cheek over my heartbeat, I rock in the chair and stroke her back, humming a soft melody to soothe her.

We'll raise her in the same city we grew up in. The same city where met, the same city where we got to know each other all over again. Everything we've ever known has begun and ended here. There's no telling where this life might take us, but with Jackson at my side, it doesn't matter where I am. With him, it always feels like home.

As I close my eyes with my child lain across my chest, I can't help but remember the summer we met. It was consistently hot, I was consistently wearing hand-me-downs, and Jackson and I instantly became attached at the hip. I should've known right then that he was it for me. But of course, I was ten. All I knew was that there was no one in my life better than him.

And there still isn't.

He takes care of me, I take care of him. Because that's what best friends - best friends turned spouses - do.

I remember when he looked at me, those aqua eyes standing out as always against his skin, and spoken words I'd never heard before.

 _"You're my best friend. And I'm your best friend, too, right?"_

I remember how my heart felt, sort of like it feels right now. Kind of like flying. Kind of like everything falling into place. Of course, I'd agreed.

Then, he smiled that million dollar smile - not much different from the one he's smiling right now, only turned up a few notches - and shook my hand.

" _Best friends stick together."_

It was a promise. A promise that we never broke, and one we never will.


End file.
